


Eight One Five

by parttimestoryteller



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 815, AU, Adventure, Crime, Drama, Drugs, Gang, Guns, M/M, MI5 - Freeform, Mystery, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Police, School, Spy - Freeform, Violence, Weapons, agent - Freeform, eight one five, teen spy, the violence isn't awful but i figured i should put it anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimestoryteller/pseuds/parttimestoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>spy AU: Dan’s an underage intelligence operative and he’s on a mission. It’s pretty routine; befriend the bad guy’s kid, collect enough information for a conviction and beat some people up. Move on out and abandon the identity assumed. Things get complicated when Dan turns out to be a little too good at befriending Phil Lester. Sometimes good and evil isn’t black and white, and Dan has to decide which lives he can allow himself to ruin.<br/>Badass!phan, updated every wednesday (ish)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

2112023626

Daniel James Howell. He tested it out on his tongue. Dan liked the ring to this one. With a name like ‘Dan’ it was easy for him to always use his real first name when assuming a false identity (changing something as ingrained and personal as your own name is far too likely to result in a slip, something tiny, that would cost you the whole mission). He repeated it over and over under his breath as he walked back to his room. Dan liked the sound of this mission, too. It was in a nice area of London and they’d get a big, cushy townhouse to go with the new name. In order to impress the Lesters they’d have to splash the cash around, which meant new clothes too and maybe some other perks like games and cars. Dan liked wearing designer clothes. He got a lot of stick for it on campus, the amounts he was prepared to spend on a single shirt with a turned up collar, but it made him feel confident. He could puff his chest out a little more and not be so self-conscious of how scrawny it was in comparison to the beefy pecks of most of the guys his age. It was nice knowing that very few people in the world had that particular shirt, unlike the hordes with football shirts and adidas combat trousers that he worked with.

Dan stretched out on his bed to read his mission briefing. It was relatively low risk and, despite the confidential material, he’d been allowed to take some of it out of the high security mission control buildings that ran down one length of the campus. Less than a mile north were training some of the most highly specialised intelligence operatives MI5 had to offer. There were three campuses on the Richfield site. The special operations, the training and support unit and the underage unit – one of the most controversial routes taken by any military government on Earth.

The UU ranged from 15-18, at which point agents were encouraged but not obligated to continue on into MI5. Originally it had been a practice very similar to cadets, that aimed to inspire young people to join the military intelligence task force, but over time the youths had proved far more useful than expected and there now operated an entire live-in training facility. Joining was not a decision to be taken lightly, but Dan hadn’t had much of a choice.

~

Dan glanced at the grainy image of Phil Lester on his bedside table and he yawned. Phil looked harmless enough, but you could never tell much about personality from a biography. Dan had had a lot of experience in dealing with the offspring of criminals. They were almost invariably spoiled brats or seriously messed up.

The clock read 5am and Dan wanted very much to be back in his warm bed, but he pulled on his trainers and stepped out into the brisk February air. It was colder than he’d expected. He did a few lunges and jogged on the spot in an attempt to warm up, then gave up and set off at a sprint towards the running track. Running was peaceful. This side of six o’clock was quiet even on such a strict training facility, and Dan had only birdsong to accompany him as his feet moved rhythmically on the springy ground. The morning light was bright and invigorating. Given his way Dan could easily sleep till well into the afternoon, but once he was up he had to admit to himself that he did enjoy mornings. The skies were clear and pale blue surrounded the yellow sun, as opposed the drowsy hues of orange and purple afternoon haze. He liked mornings, because nature was wide awake while most of humanity slept.

By the time he made his way back to the changing rooms the campus was starting to stir into life. Already there was a class running sleepy laps on the track and the showers were thick with the smell of sweat and lynx deodorant. Dan rang the last suds of soap from his hair and snuggled into the warmth of a towel. He had to stay in shape to keep his place at the unit, but he would never be a fitness fanatic – he was far too lazy by nature. His hair already tangling into curls, he headed back into the main building to pack for London.

~

The senior agent on this mission was going to be David Baker, soon to be David Howell, an MI5 operative experienced with working with the underage unit. Dan had a pretend mother too, Janet Howell, and an older sister: Sophie Howell. Each had their part to play in the mission, and Dan was looking forward to it as they climbed into the sleek black car that was to be their new family transport. Sophie had worked with Dan before and they chatted easily, catching up and testing each other on their invented backstory.

The London townhouse was everything Dan had hoped for. He had a large, double room overlooking the garden in which to spread out his relatively modest collection of possessions, and there was a basement with a pool table and two large plasma screens mounted on opposite walls. They were just a few blocks away from the Lester household and Dan google mapped the building absentmindedly as he lay on his bed.

Michael Lester was a self-made business man. He was, apparently, very good at what he did – whatever it was. Because the business he ran wouldn’t turn over enough to buy even the front room of their sprawling family abode. The police had followed leads to drugs gangs, shoplifting networks and even a human trafficking organisation; but so far to no avail. The four agents’ job was straightforward: they simply had to figure out where he was getting the money from, because there was no way it was legal.

Dan was due to start at the same school as Phil on Monday. He was their first point of contact, the plan being that, with a couple of invites over for tea, the rest of their makeshift family would be able to establish connections with their own targets. There was a lot resting on Dan’s ability to befriend Phil, but he wasn’t too worried. From what he’d read they had a lot in common, and Phil seemed like just the kind of guy to be nice to the new kid. With a stretch and a yawn, Dan rolled off the bed and padded downstairs in search of food.

~

The cool spy stuff only stretched so far, and so as to maintain his cover Dan had to start school just like every other unfortunate new kid. He made an effort to stumble over his words as he introduced himself in front of the class, his cheeks red and his face to the floor. As he looked up, he scanned the room in search of the dark hair and long nose from the photograph. He almost didn’t notice Phil until he sat down in the only empty seat in the room. The boy next to him had a mop of black hair and wide, sloping shoulders. He turned to Dan with a shy smile.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Phil.”

Dan froze.

He wished more than ever that the mission briefing documents weren’t in black and white, at least then he might have been a little more prepared to take in the vibrant blue of Phil’s eyes.


	2. The Howells

# 2112023626

Maths moved slowly. Neither Dan nor Phil had any great prowess in the subject, and they teamed up immediately to tackle the tangled equations that sprawled across the worksheet they’d been given.

“I literally cannot wait to drop maths next year.” Phil groaned.

“Same,” Dan said ruefully, knowing only too well that he wouldn’t be able to. Maths A level was compulsory at the Unit, as were at least one foreign language and a science.

“So. Where are you from and why did you move here?”

“I’m from Brighton,” Dan shrugged. “My Dad always worked in London but he decided he was bored of commuting up every day.”

“What does he do?” Phil asked.

“No idea, really. I don’t pay much attention to him. He works for a business that sells technology and software and stuff overseas. Well, he part owns it with another guy.”

Phil nodded, interested. “My dad owns a company too. It sells like stationary though, not as cool.”

“Whereabouts do you live?” Dan asked.

“Egerton Place.” Phil replied.

“Yeah, I only just got here I don’t know where that is. Not sure why I asked really,” Dan laughed. “We’re in Brompton Square.”

“No way!” Phil exclaimed. “That’s like, two minutes from my house. We’re basically neighbours.”

“That’s really cool,” Dan grinned. “Especially as we have to travel so far to get here. And now we’re sitting next to each other. Coincidence, huh?”

“Yeah,” Phil smiled shyly. “So, you’re my new maths buddy. Can I see your timetable? Maybe we’re in other classes together.”

It quickly transpired that, conveniently enough, they were in almost all the same classes and had taken the same options, except for art, as Dan had opted for drama instead. They talked easily, finding all the many things they had in common, and Dan left Phil at the corner of his road bubbling with success.

“Well?” Janet asked as Dan turned his key in the lock, slinging his bag off his shoulder and leaving it in the hallway to close the door behind him.

“Really good actually. Phil’s nice, it seems like his Dad keeps all the criminal stuff away from his kids as all Phil mentioned was the stationary business, and he didn’t look like he was hiding anything. But it’s hard to say so early. We walked home together and sit next to each other in most of our lessons. I don’t think it’ll be long, he’s already promised to give me a tour of South Kensington in his Dad’s new car.”

Janet beamed. “Well that’s excellent, you’ve made a great start, Dan. Don’t push it too much though, obviously, remember you’re new and you want to make lots of friends. Not just Phil. Ideally you want to find out who his friends are so that you can stay close to him without him suspecting.”

Dan nodded. “I know. He didn’t mention a single other person all day though, I’m not sure he has a lot of them. Anyway it’s only the first day. And they made me learn Latin – it was excruciating. I hate private schools, what’s even the point of Latin?!”

Janet rolled her eyes, ignoring him. “We’ve set up a surveillance room in the study where we’ve got all our equipment stored. It’s locked with a combination padlock ready in case you need to bring a friend home, obviously it’s the usual ‘oh that’s my dad’s study, he doesn’t let anyone go in there because of important documents yadda yadda’ and don’t let them go in my room either if you can help it, nothing unexplainable, but I have got a rather large collection of throwing knives that I need to get round to polishing.”

~

Sophie was an ex Underage Unit operative herself and she took every opportunity to reminisce with Dan.

“Does the combat building still have that purple squashy floor that looks like it’s something from a psychedelic nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Dan chuckled. “With the horrific yellow spirals. It certainly helps disorientate you while people are trying to kick your face in.”

Sophie grinned. “How’s the new library? They were building it the whole time I was there but I never got to use it.”

“It’s actually really cool. Fastest Wi-Fi anywhere on campus and loads of comfy armchairs, but you’re not allowed to talk which renders them pretty useless. More books than you could ever read in your three years.”

“Three?” Sophie said sharply.

“Yeah,” Dan paused, unsure. “Did you not know? They’re accepting new recruits aged fifteen to train for a year before they can go on missions or do any field work. It’s much better, because it’s really hard to get us trained up in time to be any real use if we’re only there two years.” Dan cowered under Sophie’s expression.

“Sixteen is already a massive breach of the law. They’re passing it off as military, but in reality it’s way more dangerous than getting shot at. Fifteen on the other hand breaks every single law ever – I can hardly believe they’re telling the UN about this,” She sighed. “I get it, though. More training is always better. But I reckon they’re just going to use it as an excuse to send the kids into much more dangerous situations.”

Dan shrugged. “I’ve got a year left, and I’ll probably go on to MI5. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll return as an instructor only to find myself teaching five year olds how to fire a machine gun.”

Sophie smiled ruefully. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. Presumably they’re teaching them how to drive at fifteen too then?”

Dan nodded, and Sophie sighed. “Never mind. It’s none of our business, hey? So. Where’s the coolest place you’ve ever been on a mission?”

~

Janet, it transpired, cooked a beautiful macaroni and cheese that Dan was very grateful of after the questionable school lunch. David was working on the case from Westminster and would only be at the house when he was needed, which fitted nicely with the busy company he was supposed to be running. Sophie was recently qualified and this was to be the first mission of her second year on the field. Janet however was close to retirement, and had left the more fast paced intelligence work in favour of these low importance, low budget operations. While Sophie cleared away the remains of their dinner, Janet spread out the case notes on the table and force fed Dan a biscuit.

“Okay,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate. “Phil either doesn’t know about his dad or is a RADA trained actor. We’ve yet to make contact with the other three Lesters living in Kensington, and don’t forget the third brother in Australia. He moved away before the money started coming in though so it’s not dangerous to assume at least for now that he’s also uninvolved. The Met[1] have been on Michael Lester’s tail for a long time now trying to pin something on him, but he’s proved pretty slippery – hence why we were called in. Sophie, you’ve got the files?”

Sophie nodded. “He’s been seen meeting with some pretty prolific figures in the criminal world, which is why they’ve decided to invest in a whole MI team to try figure it out. The real reason we’re all here, as I’m sure you know, is that the first agent sent in to make contact went missing and has yet to return. There are lots of reasons for this. Firstly, it was very low budget and she was only given three days to get inside and so she attempted to break in. We’re not going down that route. Strictly friendly. She was also working alone, which increases the risk factor tenfold. We’ve all got trackers in our mobiles and there’s loads more all shapes and sizes if you’re going into a potentially dangerous situation that won’t be detectable. We’ve got Dave as our liaison in headquarters, a team backing us of just normal police dudes and of course the mission control back at campus for Dan. We’re not going anywhere. There’s absolutely no way this man is innocent, after what happened to Callie, and there’s every possibility that we will uncover something pretty massive. At which point Dan will be pulled or at least side-lined and backup is ready to step in and help us out. This is all mostly for you Dan, as I’m sure you’re used to by now. That was my ‘Re-brief on location’ – wanna pull out?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dan grinned.

“Thought so somehow.” Sophie smiled. “I mean, it’s a good idea – I remember agreeing to a mission in Russia that sounded like a bit of a holiday and a chance to actually use a gun for once, but when we got there it was just very scary and very cold. The girl I was with got cold feet which meant the whole mission had to be scrapped, but I was secretly glad – I’d just been too proud to pull out. The scariest thing I’ve seen so far on this one was the huge ass spider in the shower this morning.”

Dan gave the two older agents the low down on what little he’d learned from Phil, but there wasn’t much to tell and Janet carried the paperwork through into the living room while Sophie retreated to her laptop. Dan eyed it enviously. He’d taken his PlayStation with him but the only TVs were the pair in the basement, and he hadn’t been able to figure out where to plug it in.

He kicked about the house for half an hour before heading out for a walk. The leafy, suburban streets were very quiet. It was only 8pm and Dan sighed – he was already bored, things were not looking good. He painted a mental picture of Phil in his mind. Pale skin, a long nose, blue eyes, and a shock of dark hair that was definitely dyed. An inch taller than Dan at 6ft, maybe two. Average build with broad shoulders but long, slender limbs. Half smile. Floppy fringe. Wardrobe was hard to judge after just one meeting, but Dan suspected black skinny jeans were on the agenda 99% of the time. No particularly defining features, definitely a look that could be scrapped at a seconds notice, but somehow Dan got the impression Phil was just as transparent as he came across. Open and warm. The phrase ‘head in the clouds’ came to mind, but in an endearing way. He didn’t look particularly athletic, but then again neither did Dan under the baggy school jumpers.

Dan squinted at a street sign. It was hard to make out under the dusty yellow glow of the streetlamps, but it wasn’t a name Dan recognised. He kicked out irritably at paper bag drifting silently along with the breeze, but it caught on his trainer and he had do a sort of hop-skip to shake it off. Cheeks burning, he glanced around, thankful for the quietness at last. MI5 agents going missing sounded exciting. There was nothing exciting about King Charles Place.

Dan turned moodily on his heel, heading back the way he had come. He was trying to retrace his steps, but the buildings all looked the same. Wide crescents of tall Edwardian townhouses with a well-kept green lawn in the middle, and perhaps a few trees. He muttered angrily under his breath as he turned eastwards, hoping to find the high street and take the long way home.

Was he going east, though? They’d been taught to spot the North Star at night, but through the canopy of trees and rooftops had Dan unwittingly picked out the wrong sparkling light? He should have hit the high street by now. Uneasily, he checked his watch. It was nine already and if he was out much later he’d get a call on his phone and an earful from Janet. He broke into a quiet jog, his eyes squinting into the darkness. A rustle in a privet hedge made him jump and a sleepy squirrel sent his heart pounding into his mouth. He cursed again. Paranoia was not going to help, he needed to calm down. Hadn’t he just been thinking how quiet and boring this district was? Dan took a few steady breaths. He’d emerged on a street with shops, but it wasn’t the high street he was after.

He slowed back to a walk, not wanting to draw attention to himself. One of the shops had pink graffiti on the shutters and Dan was starting to panic. Had he left Chelsea completely? A bin lay overturned in an alley and an empty bottle rolled forlorn down the tarmac. It wasn’t much, but it would have been enough to cause an outcry from the residents of his road at least. Dan thrust his hands in his pockets, shivering. He wished he’d brought a coat. Defeated at last, he pulled out his phone and waited for google maps to load. The tall buildings made the GPS useless, but at least he could look for road names and figure out where he was.

Dan was concentrating on his phone and almost didn’t notice the two boys in grey hoodies sauntering down the pavement towards him. Warily, he slipped his phone back in his pocket. If this had been a road in Hackney perhaps he would already have been tensing to run, but this was South Kensington. The hoodies were branded and the flicker of a shop sign caught the pinstripe of their trousers. In fact, Dan could see a blue tie poking out the neck of the taller boy’s sweater.

Dan relaxed, supressing a snigger as he noted how ridiculous they looked with their hoods pulled down over their faces. The smile vanished from his face completely however when the smaller figure pulled out a small, curved knife.

“Alright stranger?” The boy drawled, only Dan was pretty sure the question was rhetorical. “We ain’t seen you ‘round here before. What’s your name?”

Dan fought off the urge to laugh again at the valiant attempt at a cockney accent. “Dan.” He said quickly.

“No need to be afraid. We saw you move in, actually. We figured we’d check up on you. See how you’re settling in. Friendly, like.”

Dan raised his eyebrow at the glittering blade.

“Even the upper-class streets have to be owned by someone, Dan. And we own these streets. The name’s Bullet, and this here is Rocko. No one walks them without our permission. Understand?”

Dan nodded, incredulous. He’d had encounters like this a hundred times on some of the grimiest, most bone chilling streets in England; but this pair had him perplexed. It was 9:15. He could hear someone watching reruns of the Antiques Roadshow in the building next to them, and the boys clearly went to one of the plentiful private schools.

“You look a bit lost, friend,” Bullet continued. “You’re only five minutes from home, don’t worry. Keep heading straight then take a left at the traffic lights.”

“Um, thanks,” Dan said alarmed. He stayed where he was for a moment, before tentatively starting forward – resisting the urge to give them a large berth. He was nearly passed them when Bullet stepped in front of him again.

“Listen, you need anything, you come to us. I can’t get a reading on you. Usually I got people pretty sussed, but not you. You don’t look like you belong here. Your clothes aren’t right, and you don’t carry yourself right either. It’s not new money though. I can sniff new money a mile off. It’s something else. Your folks – what do they do?”

“Um, my dad runs a technology company.” Dan held his breath as Bullet scrutinized him, their faces mere millimetres apart.

“That’s not true. Maybe that’s what he says, but you don’t believe it. It’s not oligarch – you’re too tan to be Russian. Something a little dodgy, maybe. Something you don’t think is going to make you any friends around here. Politics? Bank? I’m not sure. We’ll see each other again soon, Dan. The boss will be interested in you.”

Bullet had clearly been saving this sentence up, knowing it would send chills down Dan’s spine. He wondered how many other teens he’d given the same speech to.

“If there’s anything you need, come to us – you hear? If you spot kids causing a scene, it’s our duty to put an end to it. This is Chelsea, not Milwall. Need drink but daddy’s got a lock on the liquor cabinet? We’ll sort you out, no sweat.” Bullet looked again into Dan’s eyes. “If you’re into drugs you need to be buying from the right sort of people. Street rats are unreliable at best, and we can put you onto someone. Only the purest, that’s a guarantee. You’ll find us at the gym most days. Tyson’s. Not the community gym, obviously.”

“Um, okay. Sure. Thanks.” Dan blinked.

“We can hook you up with a cut price membership, too. We’ll clear it with Mr Lester. See you around, shrimp.”

Dan froze to the spot as they slouched away, hands thrust into the pockets of their Hugo Boss suit trousers. Mr Lester? That was the last name he’d been expecting to hear. Maybe he would be paying a visit to Tysons’ Gymnasium after all.

Dan was about to start off again when he caught the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly. He spun round in time to see the fist connect with his face. Pain shot through his right cheek and he ducked instinctively out of the way as Rocko made to swing another punch. He was as tall as Dan but twice as wide, and he looked strong. Dan rammed forwards into Rocko’s gut with a shoulder. Rocko swayed, winded. Another fist grazed Dan’s face, but he blocked it with an arm, wincing in pain. That would bruise tomorrow. Rocko struck out again and Dan tasted blood as his lip split against his teeth. He ducked down under Rocko’s flailing fists and thrust the base of his palm up into Rocko’s jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled. Dan grabbed his arm and twisted it quickly behind his back before he could regain his balance. Finally he spotted Bullet, a few metres away watching the struggle in silence. Bullet had a knife. If he joined in, Dan would be out matched.

Rocko used his vast weight to wrench his arm out of Dan’s grip. Dan jumped backwards, poised on his toes. His mind was racing. If they were going to attack him, why had they bothered with the little chat? Was this a display of dominance? If so, Dan probably should have taken the beating. Proving he knew how to defend himself only marked him out as someone to watch.

Rocko was hanging back too, eyeing Dan cautiously and rubbing neck. He seemed unsure of himself, glancing back at Bullet for instruction. It seemed more and more likely that the intent was only to shock Dan into being scared of them. At a nod from the shadows, Rocko lunged forwards again. He barrelled into Dan and Dan sidestepped quickly, bringing his knee up into Rocko’s gut. Rocko doubled over and Dan put all his weight behind his elbow, slamming down into a soft spot on Rocko’s wide back. He crumpled, concaving inwards and letting out a bellow of pain. His eyes were livid and just as Dan was about to back off Rocko’s arm started moving towards his pocket. Dan didn’t know what he was about to pull out, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He charged forwards with a kick that knocked Rocko spread-eagled on the floor and straddled his waist, pinning his arms up above his head on the cold floor.

Bullet remained in the shadows, unmoving. Dan looked up at him warily as he spit out a mouth of blood into the gutter.

“What the hell was that about?” He muttered. “I don’t want trouble.”

Bullet shrugged. “Wanted to get a measure of you. Reckon I got a pretty good one now. You know some moves, kiddo. Rocko’s a big lump of meat. He could crush you. If you stayed still long enough. I spotted you. I’m good at spotting people. I could see you had potential. Let him up, he’s not going to hurt you.”

After a moment’s pause, Dan grudgingly released Rocko’s wrists and clambered awkwardly to his feet, taking a few steps back.

Rocko pulled himself slowly into a sitting position, glaring murderously at Dan and wheezing.

“Meet us at Tyson’s. Saturday at 6pm. We’ll be in the weight training basement.” Bullet continued, ignoring Rocko as he muttered under his breath.

“Why should I?” Dan asked.

Bullet just smirked. “You’ll come. Like I said, I spot people. You’d come even if you were certain we planned to string you to the wall and beat you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You should have run. You were outnumbered, and I’d already shown you I had a knife. Why were you wandering around here anyway? You got bored. You like a bit of danger and excitement. You wouldn’t have learned all that shit if you didn’t. See you Saturday, Daniel. C’mon, Rocko.”

Dan stayed where he was until he was sure the pair were well out of attacking distance, Rocko limping slightly as they walked. Satisfied that they really were going, Dan turned and broke into a fast but quiet jog, glancing back over his shoulder every few strides half expecting Bullet to spin round and pull a gun on him. What the hell was that? He shook his head, his face still stinging from Rocko’s clumsy punch. He shouldn’t meet them. It wasn’t anything to do with the mission. It was stupid and reckless. But Bullet’s half crazed mystery talk had sparked Dan’s curiosity. What could possibly have driven the pair to that? What did they want Dan for? This was one of the most affluent areas in London, they were hardly recruiting street drug runners or thugs. Kids round here didn’t need money. So why did they need Dan?

He shouldn’t go. It was unprofessional on every level. But then again, they had mentioned a Mr Lester. A small voice in his head was making a very compelling argument: he was following a lead. Being thorough, just in case. Michael Lester was an enigma, a mystery to be solved. This too was a mystery, but maybe they were the same one. Dan would know by Saturday because, of course, he was paying a visit to Tyson’s gym.


	3. The Lesters

2112023626

 

School was slow. Phil had already taken two days off sick, and judging by the teacher’s expression when she took the register, Dan got the impression that this was not an uncommon occurrence. The other students were not friendly. It wasn’t until Thursday that he first heard them talking about Phil.

“Lester’s ‘ill’ again.”

“Yeah, right. That just means his papa’s out of town.”

“Did I ever tell you guys? My mum went to one of their cocktail parties in January.  She said they had really strong accents. Really northern.”

“What like, ‘baff’ and ‘laff’?”

“Exactly. It gets better though, mum said that halfway through it all came to an abrupt end because little Phillip went missing. He just wandered off. Left his phone at home and didn’t tell anyone he was going. Crazy, right? In the middle of your parents party as well. He’s a loony. My mother would have skinned me alive.”

“Christ. No wonder everyone’s so horrible to him, he brings it on himself. I do feel sorry for him though. I mean, he’s mental – but I don’t think he’s mean.”

Dan was getting increasingly irritated with the hushed, disapproving tone of their voices. It sounded like they were discussing someone who’d just died. He turned around abruptly and adopted a wide smile.

“Hi, um, sorry to interrupt. I’m Dan. I just moved here and I don’t know anyone so I thought I should say hi.”

“Hi.” Someone muttered sarcastically, but a pretty girl with blonde hair thrust her hand forwards with a winning smile.

“Hello,” she said as they shook. “I’m Harriet, but I go by Hattie. This is Doug, Charlie, Lucy, Kate and Ellen.”

They all offered their hello’s and Dan fought to keep his smile convincing as he took them in. Ellen, the one with the mother who’d met Phil’s parents, was tall and slightly horse-faced. Doug had a squashed look about him and had been particularly vicious about Phil; while Dan didn’t think he’d heard Lucy say a word the whole four days he’d been at this school.

Hattie continued relentlessly. “We’re from all over but mostly South Ken. You walk here, don’t you? Whereabouts do you live?”

Dan told her, and they all nodded approvingly. Location seemed to be the best way of judging one another here, followed swiftly by-

“What do your parents do?”

“My Dad runs a technology company.” The words rolled off his tongue smoothly now, he’d said them so many times.

More approving nods.

“So,” Dan continued after a moment of expectant silence. “You were talking about Phil Lester? He sits next to me in like, everything. What’s he like?”

Hattie bit her lip and exchanged a glance with Charlie. “Well, he’s a bit of an oddball. You know, not quite all there. Charlie’s Aunt’s best friend told her that he’d transferred here from a ‘special school’. For kids with problems.”

Dan smiled pleasantly, while inside his stomach twisted. He knew full well this was not the case. “What’s wrong with him? Is he dangerous – should I ask to be moved?” He asked, fighting the urge to clench his teeth together.

Hattie looked uncertainly to Charlie. He had a carefully gelled and neatly cut crop of sandy brown hair and a light smattering of freckles. He was just beginning to lose the boyish roundness in his face, and looked up at Dan with watery blue eyes.

“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think he’s dangerous. I mean, he might weird you out, but not actually hurt you.”

Doug interrupted, turning his dark eyes to Dan. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said, his voice low. “I went to prep school with Phil Lester. He was only there for a year. He was unstable. Sometimes he’d seem so sweet and friendly, then he would go for weeks without talking to anyone. People who crossed him had an odd way of ending up in hospital. He could wrangle his way out of anything - always on the other side of the school when it happened. We were really scared of him. The kids said he had magic powers. He got worse, and then his Dad pulled him out. Said he was getting bullied.” Doug laughed sourly. “He wasn’t. Ignored, maybe, but only because we wanted to stay well away from him.

“Since he turned up here I’ve just been waiting for something to happen. My best friend accidentally spilled Ribena on his drawing once. Two days later he’s in hospital with a broken collar bone and wouldn’t say how it happened. I don’t trust Phil. He’s messed up.” Doug’s face was decidedly surly, with dark hair and small eyes. Dan shifted uncomfortably, trying to process this turn of events. That didn’t seem at all like the Phil he had spoken too just a few days earlier.

“I think he seems nice,” the group seemed to start a little when Lucy spoke up. Her dark hair fell in a sheet across her face and she pushed it back impatiently. “You should give him a chance at least, you sit next to him. Maybe you’ll be the first to get through to him. I think he’s more scared of us than we are of him.”

Dan smiled appreciatively.

“Bullshit,” Doug snarled. “There’s something seriously wrong with him. His whole family, even. And I’m not really sure I want to figure out what.”

Hattie made to speak but the bell rang, interrupting their discussion, and Dan returned to his desk to muse.

~

“Hey Phil, how are you?”

“…”

“Phil? You okay? Heard you were sick. You’ve been off a few days.”

Phil paid no attention to Dan, doodling moodily in his notebook, his eyes downcast.

Dan tried again. “Phil? You feeling okay mate? It’s been pretty lonely here, being new and all. It’s good to have you back.”

Silence from his left. Dan sighed. “Okay, never mind.” He muttered, flicking through the text book to the page on polynomials and setting it down with perhaps more of a thump than he had intended in the middle of the table. After a few minutes, he turned back to Phil. “Exercise 3A. That’s this one. Mr B’s promised to keep us behind if even one person hasn’t finished this whole spread by break.”

“Mr B?” Phil turned suddenly to Dan, his eyes searing. “Nicknames already. You’re settling down fast. You’ve had what, three lessons with him?”

Dan stared speechless back at Phil.

Phil made a noise under his breath and turned back to his doodle.

After a moment, Dan pushed his answers in front of Phil. “Look, I get it if you’re not up for maths. It’s 9am on a Friday, totally understandable. Could you just copy mine then, please? I don’t want to get kept behind over some stupid squiggly lines.”

“They’re not in the syllabus. Polynomials, that is. We only need a very basic understanding of graphing equations and stuff for GCSE. Anything more complicated than a parabola is A level. Mr Barton’s only making us do this to impress our parents. Just more work for us.”

“Well that may be true, but can you fuck the system another time, please? I’ve got a doughnut in my bag that I’d really like to ingest.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but Dan thought he caught Phil almost smiling.

“Depends, how good is the doughnut?”

“Raspberry jam. Extra sugar dusting.”

“Hmm,” Phil pretended to consider. “Alright, I guess it’s worth it. I’ll do it, now get back to work or it will be you holding us all back.”

Dan turned back to his graphs with a grin. Though Phil didn’t speak another word the whole lesson, Dan couldn’t help feeling at least a little victorious. He was good at Phil. At least, better than the other students. His ability to draw a smooth curve however still needed a little finesse.

~

“Hey.”

“What do you want?”

“Just wanted to say hey. We’re neighbours.”

“It’s ICT. It’s the most antisocial lesson for a reason.”

“Would you prefer I email you?”

“Headphones mean don’t talk to me.”

“So I can email you. Excellent. So it will be P something Lester at whatsit dot ac dot uk. Right?”

“What are you even talking about?” Phil said, frustrated.

“Your school email. I need your middle name.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Fine,” Dan shrugged. “I’ll look it up.”

Phil sighed exasperatedly and made a show of turning the volume on his monitor right up to 100.

~

“Psst.”

“…”

“PMLester.”

“…”

“Yo Phil. Philip Michael Lester. Check your emails.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Dan grinned. Phil was almost smiling, too. Then his expression clouded suddenly and he turned away.

“I mean it. Leave me alone.”

Dan’s face fell slightly and he faltered. The spreadsheet he was supposed to be manipulating was still hopelessly bare, and he entered another value with a sigh, his ears straining for the ping of an email notification.

~

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:09 AM

Mrs K has sellotape on her back spread the word this is whole school worthy gossip

-Dan

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:11 AM

how do you open a word document

I mean it

I can’t find word

Why isn’t it on the desktop help me these computers are too old I don’t understand them wtf even is vista

(Also my name is cooler than yours I mean DJHowell could it get any better DJ Howell in the tech room what up)

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:13 AM

Phiiiiiiiil I’m bored entertain me I’m dying

-DJ Howell

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:16 AM

I’m going to continue this monologue until you start talking to me xoxoxo

-DJ Howell

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:22 AM

Seriously are you okay and stuff? I know you’ve been ill for a while but like I wanna be friends so I’m just trying to make sure you don’t need anything etc I’m just not very good at it

-DJ Howell

___________________________________

_To:_ [ _DJHowell@TPCmail.ac.uk_ ](mailto:DJHowell@TPCmail.ac.uk)

_Subject: howdily doodily neighborino_

_10:25 AM_

_I’m fine piss off_

_(you’d make a terrible DJ. No offence.)_

_-Phil_

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:28 AM

`☺`

___________________________________

To: [PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk](mailto:PMLester@TPCmail.ac.uk)

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:29 AM

Way to wait to reply until literally 4 minutes before the end of lessons. you’re not getting away from me that easily. I’m going to follow you around all break.

___________________________________

“That’s illegal.”

Dan started at the sound of Phil’s voice, turning to grin guiltily at him. Phil was surveying him over a pair of navy framed glasses. Dan wondered when he’d put them on. The hint of a smile tugging at the edges of Phil’s lips was something Dan was growing to recognise, and he fought back a triumphant grin.

“Are you really going to sit with me at break?” Phil asked. He was trying to sound annoyed, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Yep.” Dan said cheerfully.

“You know, I could probably report you for harassment at this point. By the way – you have to get to Word through the start menu. All programs, then go to Microsoft. You can make a desktop icon but it reverts back as soon as you log out so there’s not much point.”

Dan smiled. “Oh wow, a start menu. How archaic.”

Phil just rolled his eyes. “Come on then. I need to buy an apple and if we don’t hurry up only the squishy yellow ones will be left.”

~

Phil seemed to resign himself to talking to Dan and relaxed during the break, abandoning the hostility of the morning. Dan knew he was supposed to be directing the conversation towards Phil’s family, but when talking to Phil it was difficult to stay on one topic for more than a few minutes. He had a strange way of looking at the world, and Dan was fascinated.

“I don’t mind people spending money on stupid things, but I just can’t stand waste. If I had a million pounds I’d buy the best yacht I could. I’d travel the world. I’d buy a gold plated toilet or something. I don’t know. Even if I had all the money in the whole world, I’d still want to get value for it, you know? I can’t stand people that spend £2000 on a bottle of wine. You’re literally going to digest it. That’s almost as bad as burning money for show. I don’t care if it’s Monet or King Peter or whatever, it’s not worth that money. If you’re desperate to throw it then give it away. Become a philanthropist.” Phil stuck his fork moodily into his potato salad. “Designers are the worst. You know, a Chanel label literally increases the value by 8 times. That’s ridiculous. I don’t care if you want to buy a shoe made entirely of diamonds, but paying for something inconsequential really bothers me. That’s why I hate this school so much. They’re all like that. Designer clothes. Buying expensive champagne for no other reason than to express just how wealthy they are. We know they’re wealthy, have you seen the fees for this place?!”

Dan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, twisting his watch around so that Phil couldn’t see the maker’s mark. “I get you, really I do. But like, the best way to achieve happiness is to spend your money on experiences and memories rather than material things. Because you always want more with physical things. The phone will go out of date, the clothes out of fashion, the car rusty. Memories tend to improve with age because you only remember the good bits.”

“I know, but I really don’t think a bottle of Monet is going to produce a substantially better moment in your life than tesco’s Cava.”

“Okay fair point,” Dan shrugged. “I mean no offence here so please tell me if I’m out of line, but you live in one of the nicest streets around here. You’ve got to be pretty well off. Is that why you feel like this?”

Phil didn’t say anything for a moment, and Dan bit his lip as he watched his body language change ever so subtly. His hands folded in his lap and his shoulders hunched together, moving backwards just a little.

“Well, yeah. Everyone in here is. But not my family. We didn’t always have this much money so we haven’t quite made that transition yet, and I don’t ever want to.”

Dan glanced at the clock. The bell would ring to signal the end of break in just a few minutes, and Dan wasn’t in Phil’s next lesson so he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences. It was worth a little push. He thought carefully about his phrasing.

“Your parents must be really good at what they do. We’ve had money in the family for ages. How did your family get it so quickly?”

“Dad started his business, it went really well I guess but he doesn’t tell me anything. Break’s over, bye.”

Phil stood up quickly, pushing his chair backwards and scooping his bag onto his shoulder. Dan cursed quietly as he watched him leave.

~

“My sister’s a bitch. You got any siblings? They’re a right pain.”

“One brother. He was the good kid, he got a degree and everything and now he’s backpacking round Australia.”

“That’s really cool. Do you get on? What’s he like?”

“Dunno, haven’t seen him in ages.”

~

“Does your mum look like you? Because I think I saw her walking down our road.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Wasn’t her. She doesn’t get up till 11.”

“Oh.”

~

“My Dad’s taking me to Wembley at the weekend. I don’t really like tennis, but it’s nice to spend time with him. Does your Dad hang out with you a lot?”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

~

“You draw a lot.”

“Yeah,” Phil grinned up at Dan from the grass, his hair falling in front of his eyes. “It’s comforting and my therapist likes it.”

Dan tried not to react. “I wish I could draw. You’re so talented, I’m jealous.”

“That’s bull. With art you’re not born with it. It’s all practice. Natural aptitude is useless unless you practice. If you worked at it solidly for a week you’d be better than me, and that’s a promise. The only reason some people pick it up quicker than others is because of the way they can see things. There’s no gene for like, a steady hand.”

“Do you ever paint?”

“When I have time. I like to go into the countryside.”

“Who takes you? Your Dad? Does he draw too?”

Phil wavered for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, sometimes. What about you anyway. What do you like?”

“Oh, er…”

~

~

Dan prodded his pasta with a fork. “Just a quick mission, huh?”

“Hey, don’t have a go at me. We’re mostly waiting on you.” Janet pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“That’s not fair. Phil’s impossible. He’s got one hell of a wall built up, and I’m chipping away at it with a toothbrush.”

“Well maybe it’s time to use a mallet. He’s not going to tell you. So you need to find out for yourself. Get into his house. Meet the infamous Mr Lester if you can and make your own judgement. If we take too long the mission will be pulled as a drain on resources.”

Dan surveyed a pasta spiral with a glare. “Okay. I’m on it. I’ll figure out a way, I guess.”

“You’ll have to, otherwise it’s your mission record that will be in the red.”

Dan scowled up at her. “Yeah thanks, that’s really encouraging. What have you been doing all day?!”

Janet sighed. “We’re doing our best. I’ve joined Mrs Lester’s yoga class, but she always turns up just as the class is starting and leaves without getting changed. She seems friendly, but far too busy to socialise. Sophie joined Tyson’s gym, do you remember? Nothing fishy there at all so at least that’s one thing less for you to have to look into. You can focus your attention on Phil.”

Dan shifted guiltily. He hadn’t gone to Tyson’s on Saturday, but not because he planned to abandon that lead: Rocko and Bullet had chosen to speak to him because he stood out. He didn’t do what they’d expected him to, and if he wanted to gain their respect he knew he would have to keep breaking rules. He’d walked past a few times, but never spared the grey building a second glance. Unless he progressed with Phil any further, he would go this weekend.

Janet continued oblivious to Dan’s discomfort. “Come on Dan, you’ve been trained in this. Get through to him. Find a way of making him want to spend time with you, perhaps make him feel sorry for you. An insecurity. Something you need his help with. Team up with him in a school project and then tell him we’ve got decorators in so you’re not allowed to bring anyone home. Really I don’t know why it’s taking so long, school provides a myriad of excuses.”

Dan muttered under his breath as he ran his empty bowl under the tap and started to wash up. She did have a point, though. He’d been too much Agent Daniel J and not enough Dan Howell. He didn’t need to be himself, he needed to be Dan Howell – Phil’s best friend – even if Dan Howell was not a person he particularly wanted to be. As a familiar face jogged past the window in hot pink running shorts, Dan had an idea.


	4. The Beard

# 2112023626

The powdery smell of wet paint filled the room almost stiflingly. It was mostly quiet. Someone was playing smooth jazz out of an iPod in a corner, and a few people murmured to each other in soft voices, but the majority of the students worked in a comfortable silence maintained by intense concentration. Dan had always wondered how people could find art relaxing, when he’d always found it so stressful, but with Phil to coach him gently through it all it didn’t seem so bad. It was frustrating – infuriatingly slow – but he was beginning to learn how to turn a mistake into a slightly more arty way of looking at things. Phil had persuaded him to stop trying so hard to get the proportions right, and instead to take a more abstract approach. Dan had completely destroyed and crumpled the last piece of paper with his vigorous rubbing out of tentative pencil lines. Now, he was painting straight onto his canvas – working over and over until his splodges slowly started to resemble something a little more human.

He’d discovered that his favourite technique was to dab with a large brush. He liked the rougher, thicker texture it created. He liked the way it blended without completely smoothing out the colour. There were flecks of green and blue and red and yellow in this person’s skin, but it didn’t look unnatural. On the contrary: it looked a lot more real, somehow. Less cartoon-like than the girl next to him, who had painted her portrait with a nice even pinky colour for the skin. Of course, more than half the brush strokes were made by Phil, but Dan still felt a sense of achievement as he was able to haltingly copy what Phil was showing him.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Phil said with a sigh.

“Because you’re a nice person who wants to help out a friend. Now shut up and help me mix this paint. How do you even make brown?”

Phil watched Dan smear paint around his palette despairingly. “You really don’t need a lot. Wait no stop! You’ve put way too much black in, it’ll take so long to get back to brown that you might as well start again. Quickly though, before she looks over.”

Dan cast a cautionary glance over at where Lucy was sculpting a large wire framed bird. Truth be told he was rather pleased with himself for spinning this one so well to Phil. Dan was harbouring a secret crush and needed Phil’s help to get into art club to see her without making a fool of. A perfect excuse to spend more time with Phil; and actually quite enjoyable, if only he would stop shoving him whenever Lucy walked past.

“Phil,” Dan hissed. “She’s coming over. Quick. You have to make this look good so she doesn’t realise.”

“Doesn’t realise what? That you have all the artistic ability of a slug?” Phil was clearly enjoying himself, and Dan fought back a smile.

“Exactly. I’ll stand in front.”

“You know, if this actually works you’re so screwed. She’ll have you figured out in less than five minutes.”

Dan pretended to consider for a moment. “Okay, good point. This means you’re going to actually teach me how to art.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“This is ridiculous. You barely know her!”

“You only live once, Philip.”

“Shut up you spoon.”

“I may be a spoon, but you’re still doing my art for me.”

“Shh. She’s coming.”

“She will b-”

“No.”

~

Dan flung his bag angrily into the hall, storming into the kitchen and slumping down into a chair with a growl.

“Bad day?” Janet raised an eyebrow.

Unlike the popular depiction of a stay-at-home-mum, Janet was neither cooking nor cleaning in the kitchen, and was instead using the doorframe to rep a sequence of two-finger pull-ups – thick biceps bulging.

“Every time I get close to him he shoves me away. What am I doing wrong?”

Janet touched down with a muted thud and moved to pat Dan sympathetically on the back. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Dan took a deep breath. “It’s bad,” he said. His fingers were drumming incessantly on the table and his posture was rigid and aggressive.

“I was doing art club with him, just the two of us,” he began. “It was going really well – I thought I finally had it sorted. A little bit of bonding. Then he just switches without a second’s warning. Starts doing this whole mystery man thing. Tells me I should ‘stay away’. What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

Janet’s face lined with worry as she pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him, flipping open her laptop. “Okay, slow down. Take it from the top. Do you think he was hinting at something?”

Dan shook his head. “No, it was way too cliché – too poorly executed. Okay so I ask him how he draws hands right, and he leans over to show me. We’re chatting away comfortably and he’s drawing out all these diagrams; and I just casually brush his arm, nothing weird just how we’re taught, you know, break the touch barrier. Show that you feel comfortable around them, and they’ll start feel comfortable around you, right? Only he completely froze up. He just broke off mid-sentence and moved really slowly away. So I’m backtracking really quickly, you know, maybe he has a thing about physical contact. But he’s not responding. Then he just interrupts me mid-sentence and tells me that I should be talking to Lucy if I want to impress her, and to stay away from him. And then he was like ‘My back’s hurting. I’m going to use an easel.’ Then he got up and took all his work into a corner. Like, what’s that all about? He’s a nutcase. Seriously.”

Janet frowned. “Did you try to make contact with him again after the incident?”

Dan nodded. “Yep. At the end I cornered him in the corridor to apologise for whatever the hell it was that I’d done. He stared at me the whole time I was talking with this really weird expression, but he didn’t say anything even when I’d finished. So I was like ‘Look, you’re my friend Phil. I do like Lucy, but I really liked spending time with you too. I don’t have any other friends here.’ And you know what he said? The melodramatic bastard. ‘I’m not your friend.’ And then he walked off. Like, shit. Well there goes the whole fucking mission. Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to save this one? Literally just half an hour before we were getting along like a house on fire. So that’s it. I give up, really I do. I don’t understand him.”

Janet eyed Dan scrupulously. “Okay, calm down. I get that you’re angry, but this can be fixed, I’m sure of it. You told him you liked this girl Lucy, right?” She leaned back, tapping on her keyboard. “I think that could potentially be your problem. I didn’t mention this before because I didn’t think it was relevant, but there’s a possibility that Phil is actually gay. At least, that’s what he told one of his therapists.”

Dan blinked. “Isn’t stuff like that supposed to be just a  _little_  confidential?” he said, still trying to process what she’d just said.

Janet shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t deliberate. Doctors and psychologists only keep confidentiality if there’s no danger to the patient or others in doing so. Obviously as law enforcement we have access to a lot of files. We were only looking to find out what he’d been admitted for, mostly for the sake of risk assessment and paperwork. It was an accident.”

“Right,” Dan muttered. “So what are you saying? Do you think I made him uncomfortable talking about Lucy?”

“It’s a possibility, I suppose, but I doubt it. You say it was the touch that did it? Maybe he thought you were coming onto him.”

Dan shook his head violently. “No, definitely not. I’d just been spouting rubbish about Lucy for half an hour. It was completely casual.”

“Well then. Maybe he likes you, but wants to protect himself by staying away, as you clearly like someone else - and a female someone else at that.”

“I guess,” Dan said slowly. “But again, I doubt it. He’s only just met me. What should I do?”

Janet shrugged. “The mission is over before it’s even started unless you can make proper contact with Phil. We haven’t got an awful lot to lose if he’s already shunned you. It could take months to work your way back in with him, and we don’t have months. My suggestion is that we go for drastic measures in an all or nothing scenario.”

“I don’t like the sound of it already,” Dan filled a glass of water from the tap and perched on the edge of the counter. “Go on.”

“Approach Phil the first chance you get on Monday. Tell him that you need to admit something to him, because it’s been going round and round in your head and it would make you feel a lot better to get it out of your system.”

“So what am I admitting?” Dan prompted.

“That you only pretended to have a crush on Lucy to spend more time with him.”

“But what good is that going to do, that’s just creepy and-”

“Because you actually have a crush on him.”

“Oh.”

“Think about it.” Janet went on. “If he feels the same way then you’re right back on track. If he doesn’t, then we’ve still got the possibility he’ll feel sorry for you and mollified by your admission.”

Dan was backing away quickly, his expression horrified. “No. No, I’m not doing it. That’s fucked up that is. Pretending to have feelings for someone.”

Janet’s eyes narrowed and she stood up, folding her arms across her chest. ““You do it all the bloody time, you’re an intelligence agent! Christ, Dan. I’ve seen your files. More than half your past work has involved using romantic interest to your advantage. You’re a good looking boy, and you are quite aware of it and capable of utilizing it. The only reason you’re against the idea is because he’s male.”

“Well, yeah! Obviously! I’m not gay!” Dan stormed.

“No, you’re an experienced operative. Your whole job is literally pretending to be someone you’re not. In this scenario, the person you’re pretending to be is gay. Don’t be so bloody childish.” Janet glared down at him, her face steel.

“I can’t do it. I won’t. Saying it is one thing, but this isn’t a short term thing – I’d actually have to follow through.” Dan was shaking now, his hands clenched into fists.

Janet lowered her voice. “Of course, we respect our operatives and would never ask them to do something they are uncomfortable with. You can pull out of the mission at any time,” her tone was now dangerously gentle. “Using child agents was always a bit of an experiment, but clearly those under the age of eighteen are not mature enough to deal with the emotional strain of intelligence work. I’ll be sure to carefully explain the reason for your departure in my report. One question though: your reaction surprises me a little because you’ve been very good at this kind of thing in the past. You managed to portray a murderous convict with psychological problems in order to join a group on the run with no difficulty. In fact, if my records are correct, you were able to pledge your love for a young girl – to spend the rest of your life by her side, in fact – before arresting her father and two older brothers right in front of her and leaving without a single word of condolence. But, of course, your heterosexuality must be defended to the death. At least, the potential death of your career.”

Janet took a few steps back before dropping to the floor and embarking on a fast paced series of press-ups and claps.

“You don’t have to take a dick in your arse, Dan,” she said between breaths. “You know full well you don’t so that’s just complete bullshit because you’re a whiny little git who loves himself too much to grow up and show some man to man love.”

Dan was speechless. His hand had frozen halfway through lifting the glass to his mouth, and most of the water had splashed down his front. Janet rolled over into sit-ups and continued.

“It’s in your contract and they’ll have drilled it into you a gazillion times. Super politically bloody correct these days. You will  _never_  be expected to engage in any kind of sexual activity in order to further a mission. Strictly your own decision. You don’t even have to kiss him, but really that is quite pathetic if you can’t even muster up a quick peck. You’re supposed to be a professional, Dan. Act like one.”

Dan was nonchalantly mopping up the spilled water with a tea towel and pretended not to hear her.

She continued oblivious, panting a little now. “It’s your call. But you’re still very young, it’s easy for you really. You just have to say ‘I’m not ready’ or ‘I’ve never done this before baby’ and he’ll back right off. And if he doesn’t, you’ve got the self-defence skills to make him. Anyway, you’re such a self-obsessed little bitch that I doubt he’ll return your affections. If anything, it’ll just bring you that bit closer and you can be friends again.”

Dan realised that she was waiting for him to respond and he fought to find some words. “Whatever,” he spluttered, and slouched out of the room.

“Grow up, you prick.” She called after him.

~

Her speech had been going round and round in his head all afternoon, and he desperately wished he had a punch bag in his room. He needed to vent. His footsteps were heavy and erratic as he paced the hallway. He wanted to run or fight or lift some really heavy weights. Again, the prospect of Tyson’s Gym just around the corner swum into his head as he dreamed longingly of a really good workout. He was pumped, he could make it count. Because it was threatening to burst out already.

Dan wasn’t a particularly macho person. He liked to spend time on his appearance. Straightening his hair each morning and carefully choosing an outfit from a wardrobe of mostly designer or brand clothes. He did get teased sometimes on campus, for being a ‘pretty boy’ and perhaps a little vain, but no one had ever questioned his sexuality. He always had a girl in his life. He was a little less brash than the other agents, a bit more sympathetic and sensitive. He was quieter and much less of a ‘lad’. But he was good looking, fairly witty and still in good shape despite the lack of any serious muscle to pack. Girls liked him, and he liked girls. He cursed Janet angrily. If he followed through with her plan, word would get back to all his friends on campus and he’d never hear the end of it. His reputation would be in shreds. Girls wouldn’t want to date him anymore, freaked out by the possibility that he’d kissed another man, and the guys would just rip him to shreds. Of course, Janet knew how bad it would be, so calling him immature and telling him he needed to be more professional was a low blow. It wasn’t like the official MI5. These were kids, sex obsessed and decidedly immature. This wasn’t something they’d take lightly. Finally losing control, Dan let out a feral snarl and thrust his fist straight through the drywall and into Janet’s bedroom.

~

With a crisp £20 note in his pocket and Janet’s screams ringing in his ears, Dan set off at a brisk jog towards the community gym she’d pointed out to him. A squirrel ran in front of him on the pavement and a bus blared its horn in the distance, and suddenly Dan made a snap decision. He turned left instead of right. Screw the community gym. He was going to Tyson’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a lil disclaimer is needed for the coming events: i'm not condoning any of the behaviour or actions carried out by any of the characters in this fic. If you're worried that dan and phil are ooc and it's putting you off, then hopefully i can reassure you with a sort of spoiler: the main character development planned for this comes from them knowing each other, and it'll bring them to (or as close to as possible given the au) the dan and phil we know today. yey!  
> pls let me know what u think this is a super massive adventure for me omg i haven't got a clue what i'm doing i'm just splashing around in the deep end here lol


	5. Tyson's

# 2112023626

The smell of the gym was homely somehow to Dan. He was surprised by how much he’d missed the stench of sweat, metal and plastic with just a hint of cleaning fluid - or maybe protein shakes. The rhythmic clink of the metal weights was music to his ears, and the electric hum of all the machines thrummed through his veins, the pounding of feet on treadmills in time with his beating heart. It wasn’t so much that he liked to exercise, he was inherently lazy and found it all too easy to slip out of practice and out of shape, but this was a world he’d missed and craved the whole mission.

He sprinted on a treadmill for a few minutes, but only to warm up. He was here for something a whole lot more aggressive.

Down in the weight room in the basement of the building, there was a whole corner full of swinging punch bags, targets and pads. He resisted as long as he could, forcing himself to stretch properly and finish his warm-up, before laying into the bags with all his might.

It felt good to hit something. He felt powerful as he sent the bag spiralling blow after blow. It was almost all male down here, and the steady grunts and reek of perspiration helped Dan relax. He felt masculine here. He was strong. He was straight. And there was no way he was kissing Phil Lester.

With much of his energy released, Dan hit the weights, gulping down half a bottle of warm tap water and wiping his face with a towel. The pressure felt good, too. His muscles reacted joyfully to the strain. He’d been longing for this more than he was willing to admit. He didn’t think of himself as a gym junkie, or someone who was really that fussed in building muscle, but he couldn’t deny that when he was at his peak he felt really good. He liked being able to spring out of bed in the morning and feel the power in his arms. He liked the feeling of elation he got after every work out, and the blissful lethargy when that wore off. When he’d first joined the UU he’d been placed on a rigorous training program to get him physically fit enough to operate, and for the first few weeks it had been hell. Everything had ached and most days he’d left in tears. There was nothing he had dreaded more than the sight of the campus gym, but now he visited by choice almost every evening – mornings too if he got the chance. He’d vowed to keep it up even if he did leave the military, because he knew that getting back into shape after a long break would be hell.

Dan was lost in his own bubble of concentration, lifting in time to his music. He was so focused that he didn’t see Bullet approach until he was right beside him. The scrawny boy waited, arms folded and foot tapping, for Dan to set down the heavy bar and pull his headphones out of his ears.

“Oh, look what the cat dragged in.” Bullet said sarcastically. He was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a Fred Perry shirt. Rocko was nowhere to be seen, and Bullet’s expression was sour.

“Can I help you with something?” Dan said with false politeness. Truth be told after nearly three weeks of lounging about in affluent suburban London, Dan was itching for some excitement.

“You didn’t show.”

“Nah, I didn’t really fancy it. I stayed home and watched Bargain Hunt instead.”

Bullet bristled. “You think you’re so cool with your fancy moves, Dan Howell, but just you wait. If I had my way I’d teach you a lesson for disrespecting me like that. But lucky for you we’re in need of some new muscle and the boss is down my neck for not recruiting quickly enough. So I’m going to be nice. I’m going to give you a second chance. You interested in sparkling up your life a little, gay boy?”

Dan stood up suddenly, arms flexing. “I’m not gay. Shut your cocky little mouth, midget.” He snarled.

Bullet raised an eyebrow. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Touchy subject for you? I couldn’t care less, honey, but if it’s something that bothers you then you might want to lay off the skin tight jeans and pretty little earrings. This gym is run by my crew. Some of the guys here have done time. You know what it’s like inside… maybe they got a taste for it. I’d be careful if I were you. Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”

Dan swore foully at Bullet, and he sniggered. “You are a touchy one, aren’t you,” Bullet was full of confidence again – he certainly gave the impression that all the beefy men in the room would jump to his aid if Dan were to try anything – and he was enjoying the taunting. Dan grit his teeth as he continued.

“So, here’s my proposal. My boys have done some digging and they can’t find shit about you. It’s like you just sprung up out of thin air, but that’s convenient for us. We know you’ve got a bit of a taste for danger, I’ve seen you jumping the barrier at the train station even though you’re clearly loaded.”

Bullet was bullshitting, and they both knew it. Dan had barely used the trains, and jumping the barrier proved nothing. There was an air of desperation in his voice that hinted at the strain behind his eyes. He’d been sent out to find bored youths willing to act as dogsbodies for whatever criminal organisation he worked for; expendable kids that would take most of the risk, selling drugs or robbing houses, for a very small cut of the profits. His boss had given the order but he was struggling to find rule breakers and delinquents in South Kensington. He was taking a big risk right now, propositioning Dan so blatantly when all he had to go on was Dan’s willingness for a fight, but he was lucky. Dan was both bored and frustrated. This was exactly what he’d been looking for.

“Go on,” Dan said.

Bullet’s eyes lit up and he continued. “We got a bit of business coming through. Small time, mostly, but part of something much bigger. I can’t tell you shit unless we know we can trust you, though. Can you stay here till seven? That’s when the boys start arriving. We’ll have to get to know you before we can put anything your way, you understand?”

Dan nodded. “I can stay. No sweat.”

Bullet nodded. He made to move away then turned back. “By the way, do you speak any other languages?”

Warily, Dan nodded. “Mandarin. Castilian Spanish. A bit of Russian.”

“I thought so. That’ll be useful.”

Dan frowned. Why would languages be useful for some sort of youth street job? And how had Bullet guessed? Maybe he’d got the wrong idea about the kind of work Bullet was offering, but either way he supposed he was about to find out. He turned slowly back to his weights and stared at the wall, realising he had another, much more pressing question to answer.

Why was Michael Lester’s name pinned up on a display board under ‘Senior Management Staff’?

~

Dan found himself an abductor in a corner that was nicely out of the way, but still allowed him a good view of most of the gym floor. He sat quietly watching Bullet’s ‘boys’ trickle in. They didn’t look like the type of men Michael Lester would associate himself with. There were a few hardened gangsters, heavily tattooed and muscled men with skinheads and piercings, but mostly they were young men with expensive watches and thick arms.

Four of the biggest men were converging on a single bench press, where they encouraged whoever was on the bench with grunts and growls. A group of younger lads, aged, Dan guessed between nineteen and twenty-five, had set up a makeshift boxing ring and were sparring off against each other. There were even a couple of mid-thirties (who looked like they’d be a lot more comfortable in suits than trackies) perched somewhat reluctantly atop a pair of rowing machines.

A twenty-something with wiry black hair was eyeing Dan up, his expression unreadable, while a tall, gaunt looking man had ignored the gym equipment completely and was sitting up against a wall with a laptop. A handful of younger kids had trickled in and were attempting to mingle – but it was clear that they were not high status within this community.

There were very few thug-types, and for that Dan was grateful. They tended to be the kind to hit first and think later, and when outnumbered they spelled trouble. Rocko was nowhere to be seen, instead the place at Bullet’s side taken by the closest humanoid representation of a potato Dan had ever seen. A brute with impressive scars brought up the rear, and in total there were about 40 men in the basement. Dan could have cut the testosterone in the air with a knife.

It was clear however by the way everyone was milling around that they were still waiting for someone. Bullet kept glancing nervously towards the door, while the man on the laptop was watching the clock through narrowed eyes. Finally he door swung open and a towering, heavily built figure strode in, his arms stiff at his sides. He had piercing dark eyes and brown hair shaved close to his scalp. Dan knew straight away hat this was not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side of.

This, Dan assumed, was the Boss. He had hardly expected it to be Michael Lester. If Mr Lester was part of this organization, then he was somewhere at the very top. There was too much muscle and too many prison tattoos in this gathering for - the truly Big criminals didn’t go to prison, and they didn’t have any need for serious bulk. They had other people to do the fighting for them, and to take the rap whenever things got nasty.

From Dan’s mission history and the dark haired man’s accent, Dan guessed he was Spanish and soon learned that his name was Diego. He had rough, weathered skin that was a deep olive tone. His face crinkled into a smile as he moved around the room making small talk with the assembly. Dan watched him cautiously. Diego’s eyes sparkled easily, but were impossibly quick to darken. He was expressive, and unpredictable. He was dangerous. Dan shivered in anticipation. He’d missed this. He’d missed the adrenalin and the fear and the uncertainty. He’d missed the life or death decisions, the bare knuckle fights and the thrill of a good chase. Inconspicuously in his darkened corner, he began to limber up.

~

Bullet looked nervous and was pulling at his collar when Diego finally turned to him.

“I got your message,” Diego said, his voice gruff. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

As the pair approached, Dan got carefully to his feet and shifted round the machine to face him.

“Bullet says your name is Dan.”

“Yes, sir.” Dan said. He figured that if he wanted to keep his limbs attached to his body then he should probably show this man as much respect as possible.

“Where you from?”

Dan told him, and the big man eyed him distastefully. “We don’t know this kid. Why did you bring him here?” He asked Bullet.

“He was looking for a bit of work,” Bullet said quickly. “We’re mates. I can vouch for him. He’s a good kid.”

“He’s a stranger. What the hell did you tell him?”

“Nothing, I swear! I just told him to come here if he was interested.”

“Interested in what? You can’t just pick up random kids off the street and tell them everything!” Diego growled.

Bullet was stuttering helplessly and Dan knew he had to say something or he’d be straight back where he started.

“Please, I’m not a snitch. I’m reliable I swear. I need the money.”

“What the hell do you need money for? Don’t your parents give you any?” Diego raised an eyebrow at Dan’s designer shirt.

“Well, no, at least not for things I want. They’ll buy me clothes and stuff, but that’s it. I have to wait till I’m 18 before I can get at any of my savings.”

Diego snorted. “It’s always the bloody same. Rich English brats. Always so greedy. Why don’t you just tell the truth, shrimp. Is it drugs? What do you have such a pressing need for that your doting parents won’t supply?”

Dan shifted uncomfortably and looked at the floor. Diego laughed loudly and turned away.

“Sorry kid. We can’t help you. You’re so lanky you look like you’d blow over in the wind. Little pretty posh boy. You’d be ripped to shreds in our business.”

Dan gritted his teeth, trying to think of something that would help his case. It would be a lot easier if he knew what their ‘business’ was. Bullet had made a mess of this whole thing, probably in an attempt to impress Diego. He looked up and caught Bullet’s eye. The skinny boy was red in the face, his cheeks glowing as the watching men chuckled.

“Diego, wait,” Bullet said desperately. “He’s the one that beat up Rocko.”

Diego turned around slowly, the amused smile still on his lips. “Oh, how about that. So you know some moves, skinny boy? Our boy Rocko was in a pretty bad way after you’d finished with him. And he don’t get beat easy.” Diego said, pretending to consider. “Well, maybe it is a bit unfair of me just to turn you away without giving you a chance. What is it, martial arts?”

Dan nodded.

“You ever been in a boxing ring?”

Dan shook his head slowly, realisation dawning with a trickle of dread that ran like ice down his spine. Around him, the beefy men began to laugh.

“Tell you what then,” Diego grinned, gold teeth glinting in the back of his mouth. “You want to shimmy in with our crew? We like to box. You just better hope you’re quick on your feet.”

The laughs that surrounded him were now considerably malicious, and Dan shuddered. This would be a lot easier if he hadn’t just worked out for three hours. His muscles were aching and his whole body was tired, but for now he’d have to ignore that and focus on not getting killed.

“Let’s see how you fare against Matt.” Diego said, the smile audible in his gruff drawl.

Dan let out a small sigh of relief when he spotted Matt sizing up to him. He was a head shorter than Dan, and perhaps a tad broader. He was toned and looked fairly athletic, but at least he wasn’t one of the tattooed monsters that looked fit to burst out of their shirts. Matt leered at him before slipping a crescent of red rubber into his mouth, and Dan glanced around.

“Do I get a gum shield too?” He asked, but the men just laughed.

Dan was handed a pair of boxing gloves several sizes too small for him and falling apart at the seams. He gulped, before taking a tentative step into the makeshift ring.

Diego planted himself comfortably in a plastic chair.

“Ding ding!” He said with a grin.

Matt was fast and knew how to box, but thankfully he was not strong. Dan spent a good few minutes staying out of his way, before finally darting forwards with a tentative right hook. The glove softened the blow, and Matt sniggered as he parried back. Dan realised he would have to put a lot more force behind his punches if he wanted to have any chance of winning this fight, which would be a lot easier if he knew the rules. He was starting to sense a pattern here, and he gritted his teeth angrily. Knowledge is power, and right now he was uncomfortably clueless – which seemed to be just how this ‘crew’ liked him.

He deflected another blow from Matt with his right arm and winced. Matt’s gloves felt a lot more firm than his. Would he get yelled at if he improvised a little? There was only one way to find out, and he would have to act soon before his opponent realised he was left handed.

Matt barrelled forwards with a grunt and Dan seized his opportunity, using the squat man’s momentum to slip his left hand round Matt’s waist and bring them both spinning round to face each other, where Dan landed a smart blow to the side of his jaw. The spin had left Matt off balance and the hit sent him stumbling backwards. As he tried to catch himself, Dan charged forwards and released a quick-fire volley of hard punches, pummelling relentlessly into his opponent’s side. The watching crowd jeered as Matt fought to defend himself and finally toppled to the floor.

Dan was pumped from the fight and sprang back, ready for the next round, but Diego had risen to his feet and was closing down the ring. He made his way over to Dan with a curious expression on his face.

“Bullet wasn’t exaggerating. You have a lot of fight in you for someone so weedy, and you clearly enjoy it. You surprised me, and poor Matt. Have you always lived here?”

Dan shook his head.

“Where did you learn that?” Diego asked.

Dan decided a bit of liberal storytelling would be needed if he was going to win the affections of this man, and took a big gulp of water to give himself time to formulate something believable.

“I lived in Spain for a while when I was young,” he began. “That’s where I first got into it. My parents let me wander about a lot there, I think they thought it was safer than England. We had a nice house, but we were not far from the poor areas. I made friends with a lot of kids my age who spent most of their days on the streets. There were gangs. Mostly aged about 14-20, but we would hang on the edges and try wheedle our way in. Street fights were a big deal, even for the little kids. We learnt to fight with our hands and our teeth and anything else we could find.”

He was probably taking this a bit too far, Dan decided, it sounded like some kind of gritty Spanish indie movie. Time to pack it out. It was a delicate balance between giving just enough detail to sound convincing without going over the top.

“There were big face-offs between us and the Latin American gangs. Looking back I guess it was a bit petty, but it seemed like the world to us. Me and my friend delivered some mysterious packages for one of the older boys, and in return he took us under his wing a bit. Promised he’d teach us to fight like the really big kids did. He didn’t do a very good job. I think mostly he wanted to laugh at us trying to tear each other’s throats out, but we moved to England before I’d really learned how to do it, and I guess I still had that urge in me from growing up around all that. I convinced my Dad to let me take karate classes, and then I stole money out of his wallet to pay for all the martial arts classes I could find.”

Diego let out bellowing laugh. “Thieving little shit. Where abouts in Spain?”

“Er, Madrid.” Dan panicked.

Diego nodded sadly. “I could have guessed. Madrid is the worst for the Latins.”

Dan let out a sigh of relief, which thankfully Diego didn’t notice.

“Do you still speak any Spanish?” Diego continued. He was smiling eagerly now, and Dan congratulated himself quietly for this stroke of genius.

Dan nodded. “Not as good as I used to, but I reckon I could still pass as fluent.”

Diego nodded, putting a thick arm around Dan’s shoulder and leading him down through the gym as they talked. Dan couldn’t help a smug little smile creeping onto his face as he caught the jealous glares from the other teenagers. He’d got very lucky, and he knew it. He still had the tan on him from his most recent mission, where he’d helped to shut down a heroin smuggling operation transporting drugs through Gibraltar and into Britain. He’d infiltrated the system through a street gang much like the one he’d described to Diego, but couldn’t have told the real story for fear that the big man might have had links there and know what happened.

They were heading towards a plain, innocent looking door in the far wall of the basement. Dan opened his mouth to ask where they were going, before shutting it again. He’d been so caught up in not dying that he’d overlooked the obvious – there was no way any criminal activity would be discussed in a public gym. Diego tapped in a code and pushed the door open with a hefty shove.

The room was dimly lit by a few hanging bulbs and was a little smaller than the weights basement. Plastic chairs were scattered haphazardly around the floor, and a few tables had been pushed together in one corner. In the centre of the room was a threadbare green pool table, and against a wall two fridges hummed quietly.

The rowdy group followed Dan and Diego inside.

“Vamos,” Diego said jovially, pulling up a chair. “So. Dan Howell. Let’s talk business.”

~

Half a mile North lay a leafy green park. It was denser and quieter than the greens nearby, and there were trees a plenty tall and broad enough to climb. High up in the branches of just such a tree perched Phil Lester. He lay with his head resting on a knot of wood and his eyes closed. He was listening to the noise of the breeze in the leaves and the quiet tinkling of birdsong that drifted down every now and then. His phone vibrated, shattering a moment of sweet silence, and his face screwed up in irritation. He considered mutiny for a moment, before levering himself round to read the text. His eyebrows furrowed and he let out a long breath, his fingers running through his fringe.

“Well,” he muttered quietly to himself. “That complicates things.”


	6. The First Confession

2112023626

 

Diego’s crew was made up mostly of small time criminals. The largest operation Dan overheard being discussed in the dingy basement was a money laundering scheme in Dorset. The men teamed up for the bigger jobs or when they needed extra muscle, but mostly the gang was for protection. While this group was fairly pleasant, the clients and rival gangs they mixed with were not. They weren’t sitting around a table discussing evil plans, they were playing pool and drinking cheap beers from the pair of fridges. It was a social gathering more than anything else, but as Dan subtly observed each of the men he couldn’t help shake the feeling that there was something else going on.  The group he’d identified at the beginning, the really hard ones, seemed uninterested in the small talk and banter being flung about by the youngest members. A couple were clock watching, and Dan guessed that there would be a point where serious business was organized, and it wouldn’t be with him or Bullet in the room.

Dan was introduced to the mismatched collection of men gathered in the basement room by Diego himself. He knew the novelty of the Spanish routes would wear off soon enough, and he would have to earn the tall man’s respect.

“This is Zebra,” Diego said, punching the youth affectionately in the arm. “He’s been in and out of the bin so many times he might as well start wearing stripes to save time. Never been in more than a couple of months though, no one quite knows how he does it.”

Zebra grinned widely, exposing several missing teeth. Despite the rough appearance, he had a twinkle in his eye and a gangling awkwardness that was anything but intimidating. A crop of rusty brown hair stuck out at odd angles atop his head, and Dan guessed he was about 25. He had a sallow, hollow look about him, the sign of someone forced to live off prison food for far too long, and he was very skinny.

“Alright?” The wiry man grasped Dan’s hand.

“So Zee, how’s about you take this chiquito out for a ride? You got anything lined up for tonight?”

Zebra nodded enthusiastically. “Nothing in particular, boss, but I was gonna cruise about a bit and pick something up – Dan can come, he can teach me some of those moves too. I could use some of that, surprise the boys next time I end up in the nick.”

Diego let out a bellowing laugh. “Alright, go easy on him though. He looks very clean. Needs breaking in a bit. And maybe you can get rid of his fringe when he’s not looking.”

~

Dan left the gym flushed with success. He’d arranged to meet Zebra at 11pm on a street corner, but until he could find a definite link between Diego’s crew and Michael Lester he’d decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell Janet. Bullet too was in high spirits, and they walked home side by side, all enmity forgotten.

“I should have told him you were Spanish right from the start, he’s always the same…”

“Actually, I’m not technically-”

“Of course, I wasn’t ever really worried. You had the right vibe about you. Knew you’d be perfect, it’s just a bit hit and miss with Diego, you know? He has a short fuse. He’s great don’t get me wrong, fiercely protective over his own and always looking out for us. You run into trouble? Just give him a call and he’ll have your back within minutes. But you don’t want to cross him. He can go from cupcake baking to dismembering in less than three seconds.”

Dan laughed, but he had an awful feeling that this might have been an anecdote rather than an analogy.

“He’s smart as hell, too,” Bullet continued. “He organises all the other business. He’s the only one who actually knows everything, and he likes people to know as little as possible. What you don’t know can’t be tortured out of you.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. He suspected Bullet was trying to intimidate him, but this was the first he’d heard of any real ‘business’.

“So what does he actually do?” Dan asked. “And the other guys, the big dudes and the ones in suits that stayed behind.”

“I can’t tell you any of that, man,” Bullet said, clearly delighted that Dan had asked this question, but adopting a sombre, superior tone. “We don’t know that we can trust you yet. Anyway like I said, most people don’t really know the ins and out of it. We just pick up snippets here and there. We’re not supposed to talk about it, either, so you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

“I will.” Dan said, smirking at the pavement.

Bullet raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Oh, and by the way, we have a tip for when Diego is scaring you shitless and you feel like you’re about to cry. Just remember that Diego isn’t his real name. Well, it’s his middle name. He just goes by it because his first name isn’t all that intimidating.”

“What’s his first name?” Dan asked.

“Ángel.”

~

Dan gave little thought to Phil as he packed himself a bag for whatever the evening would have in store. He made a great effort to avoid Janet as he moved about the house. They’d need a whole new mission briefing if he were to suggest this route, including risk assessment and background checks, so for now the lead was just too weak. He knew what she’d say, and of course she was right, but he wasn’t getting anywhere with Phil and he really needed something good on his record. He was pretty average as far as the underage agents went, but if he wanted a chance at an intelligence career he’d need to be exceptional.

He picked out a plain black rucksack and grey, nondescript clothing that wouldn’t be identifiable in the dark or on CCTV. Would he need a lock gun? Handy in a tight situation, but a little tricky to explain if Zebra were to find it. Better not. A paperclip would have to suffice, a lot slower but more reasonable for a teenager to be carrying. A penknife and a bottle of water. Practical, but also for the tiny waterproof transmitter he’d stuck to the lid. Just in case. Dan threw on a dark hoodie and zipped up his bag. The longer he stayed in the house, the more chance there was of Janet spotting his attire and asking questions, so he headed stealthily down the stairs and out onto the street. He had time to kill, so he made his way towards a pokey little coffee shop at the end of the road.

The shop was stuffy and warm, and he ordered a black coffee but chickened out before the barista had even turned around to make it and switched to a vanilla latte, with a brownie on the side. The far corner window seat was already taken so he sat in the middle of the shop on a squashy leather armchair, watching the world go by as he waited patiently for the clock to tick.

Should he have worn body armour? Now that he was alone with nothing but his thoughts to distract him, Dan was starting to feel nervous. There would be no one watching his back tonight, because no one knew where he was. There was a tracker in his phone, but he doubted they’d send out a response team just because he was wandering round strange parts of London late at night. In any case, he’d sent Janet a text letting her know that he was going to a party so it wasn’t like anyone would be paying much attention to his little green dot on a map of hundreds.

He swallowed. All this thinking wasn’t helping. He’d been in and out of criminal gangs for the past two years of his life, so why did this one feel odd? He hadn’t met a single female yet, for starters. It wasn’t unheard, but it left him feeling uneasy. The ‘other business’ that Bullet had mentioned was a definite strain on his brain power. That was his goal after all, but he had a feeling it would take a very long time to work his way up the ranks far enough to be included – he would have to find out through a back route, but snooping in Diego’s pockets when he wasn’t looking wasn’t a prospect that filled Dan with glee. At least if this went well, he wouldn’t have to pretend to be gay. The thought cheered him up a little, and he drained the last dregs of his coffee and pulled himself up out of the chair. A quick pee before he left, perhaps. Just in case he got really scared whilst out with Zebra. The toilets were at the back of the shop, and as he walked past the figure in the corner window seat stirred.

“Dan?”

Dan froze. “Oh. Hey, Phil. Didn’t see you there.”

“Sit down? I need to talk to you.”

Dan winced. He still had twenty minutes to spare, so he couldn’t really justify escaping. He sat down opposite Phil and folded his hands awkwardly in his lap.

“Listen,” Phil began. “I saw your mum earlier in Waitrose and-”

“What?!” Dan choked.

“She came up to me. God knows how she knew who I was. You must have given her a really detailed description, I’m impressed.” Phil grinned.

The colour drained slowly out of Dan’s face. “What did she want?” He said weakly.

“She said you’d been really upset. That you’d been crying all night.”

“Oh, no.” Dan groaned.

“Because of what happened at art club,” Phil continued. “She told me that you were only pretending to like Lucy. That you actually like guys,”

He paused, glancing up at Dan’s mortified face. “It’s cool that you can talk about stuff like that to your mum, though. I avoid any kind of interaction with my parents like the plague. I certainly wouldn’t be conspiring with them.”

“Conspiring?” Dan said faintly.

“She said it was her idea that you join art club, but that you should have just told me straight out. That, you know, you’re into guys. And that you were really upset and you thought you’d upset me by pretending to like Lucy. And I just wanted to say, like, don’t worry or anything. I’m not upset. I was just being a drama queen.”

“What exactly did she tell you?” Dan asked.

“She said you have a crush on me,” Phil grinned. “Which I think is a little ridiculous, especially what with how much of a prick I’ve been to you. You barely know me. It’s cute.”

Dan buried his face in his hands. “ _Jesus,_ ” he muttered. “I hate her so much.”

Phil sniggered. “So it’s true?”

Dan briefly considered mutiny, but he knew Janet would murder him, so instead he just nodded once, unable to look up, while his face burned.

He could hear Phil chuckling, before a fork handle was slid under his arms, forcing his chin up. Phil’s face was crinkled into a sheepish smile.

“I just wanted to say that it’s cool. We’re cool. We can be friends, if you want, and maybe I’ll let you take me on a date. Who knows. Just friends for now though, okay?”

Dan nodded, still unable to form words, and Phil got to his feet.

“Okay, I need to head off now. See you in English. Oh, you have coffee froth on your chin, by the way. Thought I should let you know.”

Dan sank into his chair, wishing he could keep going all the way through the fabric and disappear into the ground. Provided he survived the night, he was going to murder Janet. He was really starting to dislike Phil now, too. He had a cocky, pretentious air about him that rubbed Dan the wrong way. His stupid ‘mysteriousness’ and erratic behaviour was both perplexing and frustrating.

He had another way into this mission now, he had no desire to get to the bottom of Phil Lester - unless it was with a knife. He cursed Janet silently with every foul name under the sun, before getting up once more and barging through the swinging doors. School was going to be unbearable. Apparently Janet didn’t take no for an answer, so he was going to have to use every inch of his acting ability to fall in love. He let out a frustrated kick at the toilet bowl, forgetting quite how solid ceramic is, and swore loudly. Great. Now he had a broken toe to contest with, just to top things off. As his pee trickled away, he fantasised longingly about boiling Phil and Janet alive together in a very large stew pot.


	7. Dinner for Two

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“This is our ride for the evening,” Zebra said, patting the bonnet of an unremarkable grey fiat. “You’re riding shotgun, but don’t go in the glove box. We won’t have any need for what’s in there tonight, no matter what shit goes down. Better to go down for petty crime than end up with serious firearms charges. Understand?”

Dan nodded and climbed into the musty smelling car. The upholstery was well worn and the dashboard was littered with scorch marks and brown stains from stubbed out cigarettes and spilled drinks. Dan had the feeling this was a car that had been repainted many times, and he was sure that Diego’s crew had a store of spare licence plates ready to go whenever they were needed.

Zebra pulled out quietly into the night. They cruised along residential streets for twenty minutes, making small talk and making up life stories for the shady pedestrians they passed on the pavement.

“Prostitute.”

“Really?”

“100%. You can tell by the long coat. What’s she got under there I wonder? Primark lingerie is the answer.”

“What about him?” Dan asked.

“Recently single millionaire who lost almost everything in the divorce settlement. Lost his job due to alcoholism and erratic behaviour. Now balancing on the precipice of meth-head-homeless-person, clinging on to civilised life by the skin of his teeth and the comfy spare bedroom in his parents’ house.”

“The lady over there,” Dan chuckled. “The one with the coat. She’s a cat lady. A recluse and obsessive hoarder, she lives with all twenty-four of her adopted cats. It’s a secret double life though. Not even her family know, because she has to hold on to her high paid corporate job in central London in order to provide for her babies. She should team up with the meth addict, because she’s clinging to sanity. She went off the rails young, maybe twenty, after a messy breakup. The stress from her job left her unable to ever fully recover, and the first cat she adopted was therapeutic. She lives in a kind of limbo. Ice queen, holding everything together with a vice as soon as she leaves the house, but inside she unravels. The cats are her only friends now.”

Zebra laughed at Dan’s sombre tone. “I really hope that’s true. That was beautiful. I think I have a tear in my eye. Like that guy,” he gestured to an elderly man perched on the kerb sobbing into a hanky. “He’s old. Someone he knows has just died. That one’s easy, dead people everywhere. Probably a dead body in that wheelie bin.”

A skinny youth was rolling the green bin out towards the pavement and, now that he was looking, Dan did think he looked unnecessarily shifty given the every-day nature of his task. Dan seized the lead. “Now that you mention it, it does seem a little odd to be putting out the bins at midnight. The poor bin men are going to get a fright in the morning when one of the bags bursts and out pours a gory collection of dismembered limbs. There will be a trial of course, and the young lad will be charged and sentenced – with two of his friends acquitted thanks to good lawyers. He’ll go down for a long time, but the real murderer, old Mrs Jones from number five, will never even come into suspicion. The only person who saw it happen was the homeless meth addict, and no one takes anything he says seriously anymore.”

“That was dark,” Zebra chortled. “I love it. Now can we talk about those four girls in micro skirts?”

~

As victims of their game started to dry up, Zebra became more focused on the task at hand and Dan sat back in silence, watching the night go past.

“Jackpot,” Zebra muttered suddenly. “Something juicy from the starters menu. See the Mercedes up ahead? That’s a beast that’s got to cost a few bar, but it’s not too flashy. Old and loved, but not a high end model. Single driver, male, middle aged. Bloke’s got money and he likes to show it off. See where it’s just been polished? He’ll have cash on him. Some fancy bling too, I reckon. But it’s not crazy fancy so we know he doesn’t have enough money to cause us any serious grief once this is over. You ready?”

Dan nodded, his mouth dry. “What are we going to do?”

“Just follow my lead. Pull your hood up, and if you have to say anything then make it quiet,” The Merc had pulled into a parking space and Zebra drove a few meters further down the road before pulling up onto the kerb. “Come on.”

They walked quickly down to where the stranger was still in the car, bent over and fumbling in a briefcase. Zebra held Dan back in the shadows until the man was halfway out of the car door before darting forwards and pulling out a small knife. He grabbed the businessman around the waist, pinning his arms to his side in the hold, and held the knife up to his neck.

“Shhh,” Zebra whispered, with a malicious sneer. “Don’t move, don’t yell, and don’t piss yourself. I just washed my trackies.”

If it hadn’t been for the blind panic in the stranger’s white face, Dan would have laughed. Zebra was playing up every inch of ‘street thug’ he had, which wasn’t a lot.

“Dan, search the car. Quickly, but don’t turn on the lights. Here.” He chucked Dan a small pocket torch and Dan clambered into the vehicle, heart pounding in his chest.

“If there’s nothing obviously on the seats then check the boot,” Zebra called anxiously. “How thick are you? People don’t leave expensive shit in their cars when they’re getting out.”

Dan slid back out onto the street, red in the face, before jogging round to the back of the car. Zebra looked nervous now, shifting his weight from foot to foot while the man he had in his arm was quickly regaining his composure.

“I don’t have anything for you boys. The police will be here soon, there’s nothing in this car worth stealing.” He said angrily.

Zebra shook him, twisting the knife threateningly. “Shut it, you. I told you be quiet, didn’t I? Dan, grab whatever’s in there and come find his wallet. He’s got a pretty watch too, I quite fancy that one.”

“It’s shopping bags, that’s all,” Dan called back. “Unless you’re feeling peckish I’m going to leave the potatoes.” He was making an effort to sound more confident than he felt, and he could hear Zebra cursing under his breath.

Dan closed the boot as quietly as he could and ran back round the car. He felt for the wallet in the businessman’s jacket and unbuckled the Rolex. “Phone?” He asked.

Zebra shook his head. “Nah, he’ll have a fancy phone. Tracked way too easily. Give me the car keys.”

Dan’s brow furrowed, but he obeyed without a comment.

“The house keys are on here too,” Zebra explained to the brown haired man. “We’re going to drive halfway down the block and drop the keys. Unless you want to get all your locks changed, you’re going to run along after us and pick them up. We’ll do the same with your phone. No time to knock on doors or shout for help, you won’t see where we chuck ‘em. Gives us time to get away, don’t bother chasing after us. Call the police in the morning if you really want, but they’re going to do fuck all. Adios, amigo.”

~

Dan could tell that Zebra was pissed off. He was drumming on the steering wheel with his thumbs, and his driving was erratic. He had been hoping to impress Dan, but the two crisp twenties and a handful of coppers and silvers were hardly mouth-watering.

“You gotta be inconsistent, that’s the key,” he was saying. “Don’t leave a pattern. Something different every day, so they can’t pin you down. Ego bullshit, that stuff’s just stupid. They deserve to get caught. Leaving a business card at the scene of every crime. Dickheads. Mug a toff. Rob a shop. Deal a little. Keep it small time, keep it varied, and keep yourself out of jail.”

Dan fought back the urge to remind Zebra of his nickname. “So where now?” He asked.

“Not sure,” Zebra admitted. “We could check out a hotel? I haven’t done it before, but I know how it works.”

“What would we do?” Dan prompted.

“Pick a hotel. Posh, but no crazy security. Wait outside for a couple. Has to be a couple else it won’t work, that’s the only time you’re gonna know for certain there’s only two people in that room. Otherwise you might get walked in on by a friend or something.” Zebra turned down a side street and Dan realised he had no idea where they now were. He buried his hands nervously in his pockets.

“So we follow the love birds up to their room,” Zebra continued. “This bit’s risky ‘cause you gotta stay close. That’s why I don’t want to do it now. We ain’t dressed right. They might smell a rat. Anyway, we’re packing a nice big gun under our shirts and once they go inside we charge in right after, pull our guns and shut the door nice and tight. If they’re on holiday there’ll be loads of cash, so we nab that and anything shiny. Tie ‘em up, obviously. Figure out who’s got the most cards in the wallet, usually the dude, then you stay with the lady and twiddle your thumbs while I take the nice man out for a car ride. He tells me the pin number for all the cars and I drive about taking five hundred out of all the cash machines I can find. He knows he has to tell me, coz if he don’t all I have to do is give you a buzz and you’ll stick a bullet in the brain of his lady friend. I need him with me so that if he lies first time I don’t have to come all the way back. Once we’re done, we leave them all trussed up for the maid to find in the morning. They’ll claim it all back on their insurance anyway, and we’ll make a good couple of grand at least. What do you think?”

Dan started. He hadn’t expected to be asked for an opinion. “Makes sense,” he shrugged. “Needs a bit of luck, though.”

“So does everything in our business,” Zebra laughed. “That’s why we picked it. Excitement. I’d rather do this than nine to five in a miserable office for barely enough dough to pay the rent.”

Dan was a little shocked at how quickly Zebra had accepted him into the criminal world. He’d only committed one crime, and by the looks of things that was going to be the last one of the night. As they drove on in silence, Dan amused himself by composing a strongly worded text to Janet. He probably wouldn’t send it, but the very act of typing out the words was therapeutic in itself.

 Zebra slowed as they passed two elderly women and Dan thought for one horrible moment that he was going to ask Dan to get out and mug them, but thankfully he sped up again and turned another corner. Instead, they followed a silver Volvo to a comfortable apartment block. The driver got out and was distracted by two small children before he could turn and retrieve his bag from the car. He went running up the steps to greet them and Zebra slammed on the brakes. Without any need for communication, Dan slipped out and speedily opened the door of the other car. He had the laptop case and was back in the seat next to Zebra before the man had even registered the slamming of car doors, and they were speeding away – Dan’s heart hammering in his chest.

His blood was racing with the adrenalin from those few seconds of excitement, but mostly he felt sick. The laptop wouldn’t fetch much second hand, but the owner probably had all his work and memories on that hard drive. Had he backed up recently? Dan had no way of knowing. Zebra was trying to persuade him to fire it up and have a snoop around, but Dan didn’t want to. He knew what he would see. The desktop background, two small girls staring up at him with accusation in their toothy grins. He pushed it down onto the floor under his feet and fixed his gaze firmly on the road ahead.

~

As he headed up to his bedroom, Dan counted out his share of the night’s profits. They’d broken into a parked car and commandeered a motorbike for a joyride, but there was very little monetary gain to be had from their escapades. Agents weren’t supposed to keep anything acquired through illegal activities. At the underage unit the young recruits were expected to donate it all to charity, but Dan was pretty sure the government got the ill-gotten gains from their official intelligence force. He yawned widely. It was nearly 5am, and the sun was rising outside his bedroom window. He pulled the curtains closed and lay back on his bed with a thump. He had all of Sunday to figure out what he was going to do about Phil Lester, for now all he wanted was a long, deep sleep.

~

_Dan is nine years old and he is hungry. The kitchen is empty. He thinks maybe that he might be able to climb up to reach a cupboard, but he knows he’s not allowed. There’s not much there anyway as daddy does all the shopping now. He took Dan with him the first time, and he kept asking Dan what he was supposed to buy but Dan didn’t know, he was only interested in the cake aisle with the colourful icing and sugary figures anyway so now daddy pops into Tesco’s on the way home from work every Tuesday. Since mummy died, Dan’s evening meals have been an almost steady stream of toasted cheese and Cadbury’s Mini Rolls._

_Daddy eats the same things. He has his pipe, of course, but Dan isn’t sure if that constitutes a meal or not. He comes in each evening, weary and smelling of gunpowder, and then fiddles around making Dan’s tea. Every meal is seasoned with guilt. His. Dan’s._

_“You might as well do the plates.”_

_He said it just once, but from then on Dan washes up after every meal, standing on a stool to reach into the deep steel sink._

_The plates are still in the drying rack from last night’s dinner. Two plates and two sets of cutlery and two small glasses, lined up neatly together. They had beans on toast. There aren’t any beans left though, and Dan is still searching for crackers. He’s been home from school a whole hour now and he is bored. The house is empty and dull. He’s supposed to go next door to Margery’s, but she feeds him so much cake he feels ill and Dan doesn’t like her. She smells like must and dust and perfume, but not the nice kind. Mummy used to smell nice. She smelled like flowers and sunshine and spring. Margery smells of Old. Dan goes upstairs to play with his cars. It’s almost time._

_He was never sure if daddy expected him to make his own tea as well. There was nothing said. Only his disappointment hanging in the air like a deflated Yorkshire pudding. His favourite meal, roast chicken, was a recipe known only to Dan’s mother. The many components and smatterings of complicated seasonings were a mystery Dan was in no haste to unravel. Smoked trout, his runner up, held no such trepidation. Dan has saved up his pocket money for three weeks now, just enough to feed a tired and hungry man. He is a few pennies short, but the man in Marvin’s Fisheries gives it to him anyway._

_“It goes under the grill, doesn’t it?”_

_Marvin walks round to the front of the counter and puts his arm around Dan’s shoulder._

_“Warm the grill first. Rub some butter on the belly and cook it for about ten minutes. Don’t get too fancy with it. He’ll enjoy that, your Dad.”_

_The fish doesn’t appear to be too heavy, but Dan’s arms start to ache the moment he leaves the smelly shop. It is wet and slimy in the carrier bag, and there doesn’t seem to be a comfortable way to carry it. The texture makes Dan cringe every time it bounces against his leg. It doesn’t smell as much as he thought it would, and the fish is a pretty colour. Metallic pink and grey with flecks of blue and green. It has big eyes that stare glassily up at him from the plastic wrapping, and Dan wishes they closed them like they do with humans and pets. He wonders if fish even have eyelids. He can’t see them, and he’s so busy staring that he walks into a lamppost and nearly drops the precious trout._

_The cooker is almost as tall as Dan is, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to use the hob. He climbs up onto a chair so that he can read the writing by each of the shiny brass knobs. He turns the one with the picture of the oven, but the familiar clicking sound doesn’t come. Instead he can hear a hiss, and he twists it back round to zero in a panic. It only takes him two more attempts to figure out that he has to press it in to get it to click, and then two more to turn it and light up the flame at the back of the metal box._

_Dan eyes the fish where it sits wet and limp on the table. He’s been watching cooking videos all week. He rubs the belly with butter and shakes over the black pepper that makes his nose tickle. The grill pan is heavy, and Dan knocks a pile of pots and pans clattering to the floor as he tries to pull it out, but finally the fish is in the oven and Dan is sitting staring anxiously through the glass door, his thumb in his mouth._

_The trout lies saffron yellow under the grill. The butter glistens on the flat flakes of fish. All is plump, sweet and juicy. It never looked like this when mum cooked it._

_Where is daddy? He is always here by six o’clock. It’s now ten past. Dan cuts two slices of bread and butters them. Twenty past. Half past. Where is he? The trout is starting to curl up at the edges. The butter has set to grainy slime; the fish is dull with a milky residue that has trickled down into the pan. It is turning the colour of a pair of old tights and the edges have buckled like a dead frog in the sun. Dan’s father’s beloved trout is stone cold._

_Dan hears the purr of his dad’s new Audi in the driveway. His fish looks more like road kill than supper. Dan wonders if he should just chuck it in the bin so he won’t know. Then he won’t feel so bad about being late. But the fishy smell hanging over the kitchen will give him away._

_Dad comes in, his face a bit red, his hair newly cut. His piece of fish is now on the table, sandwiched between two glass plates._

_“Where have you been? It’s ruined.”_

_“No it’s not. It’s just how I like it.”_

_As daddy sits down to eat Dan has to leave the room. It was supposed to be such a treat. Why be late tonight of all nights? He hasn’t had smoked trout for tea since mummy died. Suddenly, the tears come from nowhere: they just well up. A great hot wave. Later, Dan walks into the kitchen to see if Dad has finished. He is sitting with his head in his hands. He is crying._

~

Dan woke up sweating and tangled in his bed sheets. His cheeks were stained with moisture and his eyes burning. He closed them briefly, taking a few steadying breaths and curling his legs up to his chest. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle his sobs. Maybe it was his imagination, but just for a brief moment he could have sworn he could smell grilled trout.

 


	8. A Lesson in Guise and Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: an entire chapter of dialogue bc i really need to get on with the plot now
> 
> a/n for this one: like with adk, it was difficult to get back into this so this isn’t a great chapter but i’ve got a whole bunch more written now cool (also i’m posting at stupid o’clock bc i promised an update today, but it hasn’t been proofread so advance warning for typos (if you spot any pls let me know!!) and u might want to wait till tomorrow once i’ve edited ty ily)

Alternatively titled: an entire chapter of dialogue bc i really need to get on with the plot now

a/n for this one: like with adk, it was difficult to get back into this so this isn’t a great chapter but i’ve got a whole bunch more written now cool (also i’m posting at stupid o’clock bc i promised an update today, but it hasn’t been proofread so advance warning for typos (if you spot any  _pls_  let me know!!) and u might want to wait till tomorrow once i’ve edited ty ily)

 

2112023626

Dan waited outside the classroom for a good five minutes, holding his breath. He really didn’t want to go inside. When he finally did muster up the courage, Phil was already seated, waiting for him with a smug little grin that Dan wanted nothing more than to wipe off his face with a nice roundhouse kick. Gritting his teeth, Dan pulled an abashed expression onto his face.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down next to Phil.

“Alright?” Phil smirked.

Dan clenched his fist in his pocket. “Yeah, good thanks, you?”

“I’m cool. Cool as a cucumber.”

Phil was full of confidence today, cracking jokes and flirting obviously, completely different to his usual reclusive state. Dan wanted to roll his eyes every time Phil opened his mouth. Was this the end of Phil’s mysterious persona? Was this the real Phil? He really hoped not, because this Phil was unbearable.

~

Halfway through the lesson, Phil’s mood shifted abruptly. He became moody and withdrawn, making sarcastic comments under his breath every time the teacher spoke. Dan watched on in disbelief.

“No,” Phil muttered darkly after a long tirade from Ms Stone about symbolism in Bukowski’s ‘Post Office’, “Bukowski was a pretentious scumbag, with no respect for anyone other than himself. Just because he wrote about himself ‘with stark, brutal honesty’ doesn’t redeem the things he was saying. You’re reading that whole spiel out of the textbook, anyway. Counting on the fact that no one will have read it. Brainless bitch.”

Dan’s mouth fell open, but Phil wasn’t done yet. “English is about forming your own opinions anyway, not just preaching the politically correct, exam board certified analysis to a class full of airheads and zombies.”

This was too much for Dan, and he turned and looked Phil square in the eyes. “Here’s the thing about keeping up a façade, Phil,” he whispered angrily. “You have to keep it up. Decide on the persona, and bloody stick to it. This is infuriating! This isn’t you. I’m sure of it. Only a few days ago you were sweet and funny and gentle. Now you’re being a complete nob.”

Phil stared back, his eyes wide. He looked a little like a small animal caught in the headlights of a fast moving car. It was hard to picture those words coming out of his downturned mouth. And suddenly, he shifted again.

“Dan…” Phil said slowly. “Well, I don’t know what to say. You’re right of course. Façade is a good word for it. It just comes naturally to me now. A different version of Phil for everyone I meet,” he took a deep breath and chewed his lower lip. “Whatever version is going to make them stay away.”

“I don’t understand.” Dan said quietly.

Phil stared sadly down at his exercise book, doodling forlornly with a chewed pencil. He spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. “To some people, I’m crazy. Mentally ill. Disturbed. Whatever they want to make of it. They might try sending me to therapists, but I’m pretty good at making sure that doesn’t last. Eventually, they give up and leave me to it. Phil, the crazy one in the corner. Best just to leave him alone.”

Phil was speaking under his breath, a textbook held up in front of his face to hide is moving lips from the teacher who droned at the front of the classroom, but she was setting them some sort of pair analysis task and he span right around in his seat and as soon as she’d finished talking.

“Most of the time I can get away with just being shy,” he said in a soft monotone. “Bad social skills. Quiet, likes to be left alone. Head in the clouds. That’s not so far off real Phil. But the nice people see that as a moral obligation to make an extra effort to talk to me, even when I’m clearly signalling them to go away. That’s when I have to bring out crazy Phil. Snap suddenly at them. Bring out some anger issues. Violence usually is the answer for these people, as they’re the gentle, nice, peaceful ones.

“And then there’s just plain horrible Phil. He’s the hardest to make, I’m not very good at it, really. He’s the one you saw just now. Because you weren’t put off by crazy Phil or shy Phil. Evil counterpart is the last resort.”

Dan considered this for a moment, watching the shapes spiral into existence on Phil’s page. “I still don’t really understand,” he said sensitively. “Why do you want people to leave you alone? Sometimes you’re really friendly, to me at least. Sometimes you pulled me closer. You didn’t push me away all of the time. Why do you do it? Do you just, not like company?”

Phil sighed. “It’s not as simple as that. Mostly, yeah, I got bullied a lot. I’m introverted, and I like being alone. I don’t like people pushing themselves on me. Especially when I don’t like the people. But there are nice people, like you, who I’ve pushed away. Because I don’t want them getting hurt.”

“Well, that’s about the most cliché thing ever,” Dan laughed. “But you sound serious. What do you mean?”

“Complicated.” Phil murmured.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk about it. But can I ask something?”

Phil nodded.

“What about me?” Dan said. “You don’t seem to be able to decide whether or not you’re pushing me away.”

“Well, really you’ve nailed it there,” Phil smiled weakly. “I do want to be your friend. I don’t have a lot of friends. And you’re cool. And pretty.” Phil’s cheeks reddened. “But that’s selfish. Who I am, right now, is not a good person. There’s a lot of bad stuff. So I told myself I wouldn’t let people get close to me, because it would end up hurting them. And yes, it’s as clichéd as it sounds. I read a lot of romance novels, so I’m not really sure how else to word it.” He laughed dryly. “It’s not quite as dramatic as all that, this is only a short term thing. I’m going to move out next year. Go travelling, find myself a bit and make like, a new life for myself. When I moved here, I decided that I would just live out the year hermit style in a quiet corner by myself with a sketchbook and maybe some tea. Focus on getting my grades. Be impenetrable and completely independent. Not make any friends, because I didn’t plan on ever seeing them again.” Phil tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “I realise it does sound kind of angsty and dramatic. But like, it just a goal I made, you know? A plan of action. A way of coping.”

Dan watched him for a moment, contemplating. There were a lot of possibilities to consider. Was Phil talking about his father? Perhaps he was worried that if friends got too close to him then they might discover whatever secret Michael Lester was hiding. And if Mr Lester was to realise that they had found him out, then who knew what would happen to them. Dan had certainly seen this trait in the children of criminals before, but never to the extent that Phil Lester had gone to. It must be a pretty big secret, and if Phil did know about it after all then perhaps Janet was right: this was the route to take. The thought didn’t irk him as much as it had fifteen minutes ago because, he had to admit, Phil had sparked his curiosity. If only a little bit.

“So where does that leave us?” Dan asked. “Friends, or strangers?”

Phil chewed on the end of his pencil. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I want to be your friend. But I haven’t really made a good start. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not.”

“Okay, let’s straighten things up.” Dan said with a frown. “There’s some sort of risk - which you can’t talk about - involved with us being friends.”

“Correct.”

“Is the risk to me, or to you?”

“Both. Mostly you.” Phil’s lip trembled a little.

“Okay. Let’s say I’m prepared to take the risk. What then?”

“You can’t say that, you don’t even know what it is. I’m talking about a serious risk to your life here, Dan. While it may sound like some stupid teen drama, it’s not. It’s not romantic and it’s not funny.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Dan reassured him. “Honestly, it appeals to my adrenalin junkie side. I like danger. See, there’s a cliché right back at you.”

“Cliché wars. I’m telling you right here, right now, that being friends with my might end up in grievous bodily harm.”

“And I’m telling you that I want to take that risk.”

“That’s stupid. Like, seriously stupid. I’m not a vampire, Dan. This isn’t going to result some magical, supernatural romance. This is actual, danger stuff. You’re not impressing me by being an idiot.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Dan ran his fingers through his fringe. “I can look after myself. My uncle teaches martial arts, and I’m a bit of a sucker for excitement. And anyway, you said ‘maybe’. That’s not so stupid. If it looks like I’m going to get knifed then, no offence, I’ll probably leave you to it and go and befriend one of the horse girls. I have faith in my ability to run really, really fast.”

“So, the possibility of the possibility of getting knifed is what’s keeping you talking to me.”

“I guess so.” Dan laughed.

“You’re an idiot, Dan Howell.”

“Thank you.”

“Except, I’m not really joking.”

Dan raised an eyebrow and Phil turned to him just as the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson. “You’re going to regret this. So am I. I already wish I hadn’t let it get this far.”

“Well, that’s morbid.” Dan muttered.

“C’mon. Let’s go to ICT.”

~

They didn’t speak throughout the short walk through the corridors, so when they sat down in front of their monitors there was a bubble of awkwardness in the air. Dan was still riding the high of his mini breakthrough, so he pushed on with a smile.

“Did you watch Buffy last night?”

Phil didn’t seem to register what Dan had said, chewing on his fingernails and waiting for the server to log him in.

“Earth to Phil,” Dan laughed. “You there?”

“Yeah,” Phil murmured abstractly. “Dan, can I ask  _you_  something?”

Dan nodded, a little tense.

“What you said last night, in the coffee shop, did you really mean it?”

A torrent of terror crashed over Dan like breaking waves.

“Um, well, I…” He fumbled for words, hoping he could pass off his panic as embarrassment. He looked flustered. Good.

Phil said nothing, looking patiently at Dan through steady eyes. Clearly he wasn’t going to come to Dan’s rescue, so Dan took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I meant it. For real Phil, anyway.”

“You don’t really know real Phil.”

“I’m starting to realise that,” Dan confessed.  “But I’d like to. Can we take it slowly though? I want to really know you.”

“You’re not ever going to really know me, Dan.”

It took all Dan’s effort not to punch the dark haired boy in the throat. “I don’t care.” He said, for the second time that day. He should probably start reading more young adult romance novels, he needed to get on Phil’s cliché level. He had, quite literally, just said that he cared. But Phil didn’t seem to pick up on it, and a small smile spread across his lips.

“Alright.”

 _‘Alright?’_  Dan thought. Well, at least it wasn’t ‘okay’.

~

They spoke only briefly for the next few minutes as the ICT teacher made her rounds, coaxing them through a tedious but not particularly strenuous spreadsheet activity on Excel. Phil had decided to pay no attention to her instructions, and was instead filling the little boxes individually with block colour to make a spiralling pattern across the screen. If the teacher noticed, she didn’t show it, walking right past their desk without a second glance.

“I see crazy Phil has his perks.” Dan grinned, but Phil just stared back through doleful eyes.

“I don’t call him crazy Phil,” he said softly. “I don’t like the word crazy, I guess. I don’t much like the idea that I’m pretending to have a mental illness, either. That doesn’t seem right. But I don’t see it like that.” He span the swivel chair round a couple of times. “I’ve talked a lot today. Want me to talk some more?”

Dan nodded, so Phil shifted his monitor and wheeled his chair up closer so that they were well out of the teacher’s line of sight. Clearly he was more worried about getting Dan in to trouble than he was himself.

“I had a friend a few years back,” Phil began. “It was when we were living in New York. We were really close because I used to go round her house every day after school, as both my parents were at work.”

Dan found it easy to listen to Phil. His voice was low and soothing, and he was, Dan decided, a good storyteller. He picked the right amount of words to bring his stories to life without being too elaborate. He was easy to believe.

“She had an older sister,” Phil continued. “Who had manic episodes sometimes. She thought she had superpowers. She’d run outside and lay on the ground and just roll and roll and roll until someone stopped her. Sometimes she’d think everyone was a robot, and we’d have to do all these things to prove that it was really us. Once she jumped in the river because she thought she was being abducted by aliens, and she hid under the water so she didn’t get spotted. She nearly drowned. She had a mental illness, but it was hard to see her like that. It was hard to say there was anything nice about it, but then again, I couldn’t help but feel that she had a certain freedom when she was having an episode. We all walk around with this armour of sanity; we learn from a young age not to do things that might be considered weird. But she was able just to cast it off completely. I almost wanted to join her and run around the city sometimes. Be free.

“When I put on that other version of me, I’m not ever pretending to be mentally ill. I couldn’t justify that to myself. It’s not fair on the people who have to wake up every day and have to deal with real life mental illness. I’m just, taking down that armour. I’m not worrying about being weird anymore, and people see that and they see crazy.”

Dan mused over Phil’s story for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wondered if Phil was crazy, and was surprised by a pang of guilt in his stomach as soon as he thought the word. He frowned.

“Okay. Another question. This one’s about real Phil.”

Phil smiled weakly.

“Do you not get hurt by all this?”

Phil’s smile faded.

“I’m not a rock, Dan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes. Of course I do. But I’d get hurt more if I didn’t do it. It’s a defence mechanism as much as anything.”

“It doesn’t sound healthy to me.” Dan said obstinately.

“That’s because you don’t understand.”

“Well enlighten me!” Dan said, frustrated. “I’m trying to understand. Help me out here.”

“I think it will take time.”

“Why?”

“You’re intolerant.”

“What?!”

“You don’t have much time for people who don’t fit the mould of a ‘normal person’. You singled me out and made an effort with me because you had a motive.”

Dan’s heart pounded in his chest. “Huh?”

“I’m guessing it was some kind of good karma thing. You have a high opinion of yourself, you think you’re doing a good deed.”

Dan blinked. “What the hell, Phil. Is this another persona?”

Phil shook his head. “I’m sort of serious. I don’t know what to make of you.”

“You can hardly bloody talk.” Dan muttered.

At this, Phil grinned. “You’ve learnt about my personas. Now I want to learn about yours.”

Dan’s heart was, once more, in the back of his throat. “What do you mean?”

“The person I’ve been talking to is as much the real Dan Howell as the Phil Lester you’ve been talking to. You look at me like you’re analysing me. Like you’re taking every movement I make and running it though a psychology textbook. I say things and, just for a moment, I can read your true reaction in your face. You’re creeped out, exasperated, pissed off. And then you’re all smiles again. You’re just as good at putting on a face as I am.”

Dan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t been working in intelligence very long, but not even the veteran operatives had ever spoken of someone quite so perceptive as this boy in front of him. Dan couldn’t imagine it was often that the target would spy right back.

“Okay,” Dan said after a moment. “I have another question. This one’s for the real Phil. Five minutes ago we were two cute teenagers with a crush on each other. Now we’re psychoanalysing each other, with the odd insult thrown in. What are we? Are we friends? Romantic interest? Mortal enemies?”

“I like to think the best relationship has a mixture of all three,” Phil grinned. “But you’re right. We didn’t get off to a good start. I have to believe in starting over, otherwise my life plan is in pieces. So how about it, Dan Howell? Start again, as if we’d never met?”

“The real Phil?” Dan asked.

“And the real Dan.” Phil finished, frowning. “I know you think I’m crazy, but really you’re the one who struggles the most with his persona. I think it will be harder for you to break it down than it will for me.”

Dan bit his lip. Phil’s perceptiveness was going to make his job very difficult.

“Okay,” Dan said. “The real Dan.”


	9. Onions

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A fresh start was what Dan had asked for, and a fresh start was what he was getting. Phil had shaken his hand and introduced himself the next day at school, and they had started small – movies and books and TV shows, the picture of politeness and amicability (which, Dan thought, didn’t really fit their agenda of being honest with each other). At the end of the day they walked home, Phil remarking on the closeness of their houses and promising to show Dan around sometime, and they parted ways at the bottom of Dan’s road.

Dan dutifully tapped away at the keys of his laptop as soon as he returned home. It was a decidedly unremarkable write up, but one that Janet was very pleased with. Dan had, of course, been keeping track of his progress with Diego’s crew too, but had neglected to put any of that in the mission files. He was opting not to think about what Janet would do to him when she found out.

He poured himself a bowl of cereal and munched absentmindedly, staring out of the window and thinking about Phil Lester. He was going to be difficult to crack. That much had been clear to Dan from day one, but he had a guilty feeling that that was one of the main reasons he was so intrigued by Phil. He was a challenge, and one that Dan intended to rise to.

He yawned, suddenly not all that inspired by his cornflakes any more. The day had gone so well, to come home and have nothing to do was intensely frustrating. He hadn’t got a TV in his room yet so he couldn’t even set up his playstation.

The house, despite its grandeur, was not large. There were three comfortable bedrooms and two reception areas. Two bathrooms, a study, and of course – the basement. It seemed not a lot for the £1,500,000 it was supposedly worth. Phil’s house was worse – so close to the infamous Egerton Crescent (named the most expensive road in England for the fourth consecutive year) where a four bedroom terrace could easily fetch £10,000,000. Dan wondered vaguely how much the Lester family home had cost. Several million at least, and then there was the brand new Mercedes parked outside and the Lamborghini Michael Lester drove to work in. All a tall order for a mildly successful stationary business to support.

He yawned. Without even realising it, he had left the kitchen and padded barefoot up the stairs to the landing. It was the best spot for pacing. A long, interrupted stretch, with a nice turn spot at either end. He liked to pace while he thought. He couldn’t concentrate sitting still, but, walking up and down at a leisurely pace, he could slip into his fantasy world – wherever that may be.

Right now, it was the Lester household. Dan was conjuring up images of rooms and paintings and ornaments and gadgets. He was playing through the fictitious visit in his head, with Phil showing him all manner of luxuries and lavish adornments contained within the red brick building. But the hallway, for all its pacing convenience, wasn’t really a substitute for a good walk. The turn at either end was only making him more irritated and restless, so he gave up, heading instead to his room and changing into a tracksuit.

He bounced down the stairs and pulled on a pair of trainers, before pulling the heavy front door open. The leafy green square was a nice place for a run. Only nice, however, and Dan crinkled his nose up a little at the neat, green affluence of it all. It was all so luscious and well kept. Even after all this time, he still felt out of place in this area. The other joggers turned their noses up at his attire, and he wished he’d brought some of his more expensive clothes with him. He wondered vaguely if Janet would take the two younger agents on a shopping trip at the weekend, and almost ran straight into Phil Lester as he rounded a corner.

“Oh! Hey Phil,” Dan said, struggling to catch his breath.

“Hey, Dan,” Phil blushed slightly. “Wow. Running. I didn’t take you for that kind of guy, I’m disappointed.”

Dan laughed. “I’m really not. I just ate so much I felt really sick and got inspired. I’ve been running for about thirty seconds and I’m already dead, this was a terrible idea.”

Phil grinned. “Yeah, I did that once. Never again.”

“Definitely not,” Dan agreed. “Where are you going anyway?”

Phil shrugged. “My Dad’s holding a business meeting and wanted me out of the house. I didn’t have anywhere to go though so I was just hiding in a bush playing Pokémon, but now I need the loo.”

“Which Pokémon?” Dan asked.

“Red. I really do need to pee though, do you know any public toilets near here? I’m too awkward to ask in a café.”

Dan shook his head. “Only cafes, sorry. My house is just across the road though, you can use ours if you want?”

“Thanks, that would be amazing,” Phil said gratefully. “So sorry for cutting your healthiness short.”

Dan snorted. “Yeah. How dare you, I’m very upset by this.”

Dan sent a discrete text to Janet as they walked, crossing his fingers that she’d have her phone with her and see it in time to clear away anything suspicious. He didn’t get a reply though so made sure to direct Phil quickly to the toilet as they got in.

“Jan?” He whispered, poking his head into the kitchen. He cursed quietly as he spotted a stack of files on the worktop that didn’t look much like they belonged to a software company. He heard the toilet flush and shoved the paperwork into the cutlery draw, casting another cursory glance around the kitchen.

When Phil came out from the toilet, Dan was ready and waiting - distracting Phil with tea and coffee while making several attempts to blindly call the house phone from the mobile in his pocket. Finally, it sounded shrilly throughout the house, and Dan breathed out a sigh of relief when he heard Janet pick it up somewhere upstairs. He made a point of loudly offering Phil a biscuit before hanging up and hoping she’d been able to hear.

A few minutes later, Sophie came padding down the stairs in a dressing gown and feigned surprise before introducing herself and apologising for the pyjamas. There was a thud upstairs, and both she and Dan coughed simultaneously.

“Why don’t you show Phil the basement?” Sophie asked, as another hurried thud reached their ears. “It’s easily the coolest room in the house. Mum’s still not happy with how the moving men arranged all the bloody ceramics upstairs, but I expect she’ll be down soon with plates of squash and biscuits or something equally horrific. I’m still terrified she’s going to make us take brownies round to all the neighbours again.”

Dan cringed. “Oh god. It was fine last time, we were like seven so we still had the cute factor. You can keep her distracted though, you’re not at college anymore. Take her to yoga or something.”

~

Phil seemed to have no qualms with turning his toilet trip into a social visit, and cheerfully accepted the invitation. He followed Dan down the narrow staircase, remarking politely at the cleanliness of their house.

Dan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He surreptitiously kicked an empty can under the sofa as he flicked on the lights.

“We have one of these,” Phil said, gesturing at the pool table. “I’m not very good though.”

“Want a game?”

“Well, I can try.”

Dan, it transpired, was almost as bad as Phil, but their joint clumsiness made them a good match.

“How long’s your Dad’s meeting going to be do you reckon? Only I’ve got nothing to do, and you promised me the grand tour.” Dan said as he potted the white yet again with a moan.

“No idea. A long time though, probably. That sounds like a good idea. I can be friendly Phil. Although to be honest, I’m quite new to Barton as well. I move schools a lot. Most of the time it’s just my Dad being weird. He has loads of houses all over London and we move around a lot. He gets bored really easily.”

Phil sounded different to how he had sounded before their ultimatum. Less sure of himself, and a little quieter. He stumbled over his words, and Dan got the impression that he was struggling to think up lies that would still allow him to be genuine with Dan. At least, mostly. Phil was having to invent a whole new persona just for Dan, and at lightning speed.

“Why does he have his meetings at your house?” Dan asked casually.

Phil shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked, it’s best not to with business stuff. God, this is weird. I’ve never been like this with someone before. I’m trying to think how I’d actually talk to you, you know, if I’d just met you as me.”

Dan didn’t say anything, watching Phil’s face out of the corner of his eye as he feigned concentration, sending the balls spinning into the centre of the table.

Phil bit his lip, bringing his hand up to his face. “Dad does work hard. He’s working _all_ the time. We went on holiday to Tenerife last year, and he stayed in all day on his laptop and refused to go to the beach even once. What the hell, right? Why bother spending the money in the first place. My mum was so mad, she told him just to stay at home next time. They didn’t talk for days.”

“Aw, man, that sounds rough,” Dan said, trying to sound a little awkward.

“Sorry,” Phil blushed. “I haven’t had any friends for so long, I guess I’ve kept it cooped up.”

“It’s fine, seriously, don’t worry about it,” Dan smiled. “I have two ears primed and ready to listen. You’re not annoying.”

“What about you, though?” Phil asked. “Two sides to this duo, when do I get to find out all your secrets?”

Dan laughed. “I’m an open book. Ask away.”

“Sure you are,” Phil rolled his eyes. “I’ll let that one slide, for now. I suppose it would ruin the fun if you just broke down your enigma straight out. I’m going to figure you out for myself.”

“Not if I figure you out first,” Dan joked, but his fingers were clenched into a fist under the table and he was drumming anxiously on the wooden panelling.

Phil’s smile wavered a little. “I’m pretty sure my secrets are bigger than yours. I’m only kidding with you, Dan. Don’t try too hard to figure it all out. It’s better if you don’t know.”

Dan almost smiled at the irony of the situation, but he pulled the expression off his face. “Serious Phil again. I’m just messing, too. I promise I’m not going to break into your house in the middle of the night and go snooping through all your Top Secret documents.” Dan’s fingers found the lock pick on the key chain in his pocket, and he allowed the smile to make another appearance.

Phil took his shot and straightened up. “Back to Dan Howell. Your sister seems nice.”

“She’s alright.” Dan shrugged. “Mum’s okay, too. Dad’s not around a lot.”

“Is your mum the type to want to sit around drinking tea and discussing school and stuff? Only, that’s not really my thing.” Phil tugged at the leather band at the end of his cue.

Janet wasn’t, of course, but Dan seized the opportunity. “She might, actually,” he admitted. “If you want, we can just do a runner before she has a chance? You said you’d show me around, right?”

Phil nodded gratefully. “Not that I don’t want to be here or anything. I’m just in a permanent quest for as little awkward parent-socialising as possible. They only really care about your parents, anyway.”

Dan nodded. “I know what you mean. Call it a draw?”

“I was _so_ winning.” Phil snorted.

“And then you abandoned ship,” Dan grinned. “Come on.”

If Phil noticed the sudden absence of the cluster of laptops on the kitchen table when they came back upstairs, he didn’t show it. Janet was sitting on the edge of the counter, sipping a mug of steaming coffee. She made to say hello, but Dan cut her off.

“Mum, Phil. Phil, mum. We’re heading out, Phil’s going to show me round a bit.” Dan said quickly.

Janet nodded. “Nice to meet you, Phil.” She called as they hurried out the door.

~

The air was cold and fresh. Phil had changed into skinny jeans and a grey hoodie since school, and Dan wished he wasn’t wearing such an ugly tracksuit.

“Really I think we’re going to have to find our way around together,” Phil said thoughtfully. “Just as we’re finding our way around each other.”

Dan couldn’t help himself. “Eeey,” he said, and Phil sniggered.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, yeah, but it was very pretentious and poetic.” Dan teased.

“I like pretentious and poetic. I’m a big fan. I have all their books.”

“Oh, no. You’re going to be unbearable. What have I let myself in for?!” Dan said in mock horror.

“Don’t peel back the layers unless you’re okay with what you find in the middle.” Phil said with a grin.

“Are you comparing yourself to an onion, Phil Lester?”

“Is that a Shrek reference? Save me.”

“Shrek is love, Shrek is life,” Dan grinned. “Ogres are like onions. So you are both an ogre, and an onion. Is that your big secret?!”

“When the night falls, my skin turns green. It’s a terrible burden.” Phil pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and Dan laughed.

Phil was easy to be around, when he was like this at least. They gelled well together, their sense of humour shared and their rapport comfortable and friendly. Laughter followed them down the street. They bounced off each other. But which layer of Phil was Dan seeing? Was there something else underneath? Dan had a feeling that there was, and the thought made him uneasy.

Back at the house, Janet was running the footage from the basement cameras through facial recognition software. Sophie was watching TV, one eye on the little green dot moving around the screen of her laptop. There was no real reason to be following Dan’s movements, but she was interested.

Phil’s house was silent and lifeless from the outside. Phil pointed it out as they passed, and Dan paused for a moment to look up at the tall building. This was the closest he’d ever seen it in person. He drank in the neat brickwork and heavy set front door. Just as he was turning away, a movement caught his eye. The twitch of a curtain in an upstairs window.

There was a face behind the glass, and just for the briefest of moments Dan locked eyes with Michael Lester.


	10. Joe

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Dan was content just to be spending time with Phil and getting to know him, but he knew he had to angle everything towards his goal. It wasn’t easy, Phil clearly wanted to steer the conversation away from his Dad and his family life, so Dan’s pushiness was suspicious. He had to find round-about ways of getting his information. He pointed out a nice car on the pavement as an excuse to inquire as to the Lester transportation device of choice, then let at a low whistle when Phil told him.

“You must be pretty rich, then.” He’d said, but Phil had brushed it off.

Siblings were just as futile a route of enquiry, as ‘he’s in Australia’ was all Phil was willing to divulge. Frustrated, Dan tried again.

“Show me things. I don’t go out a lot. Where’s good to hang out when your house is driving you insane?” He asked.

Phil frowned a little. “Well, I tend to go to one of the parks. I’ll draw or read a book or something, but that’s not very interesting. There are loads of shops and cafes and stuff, like we’re right next to Knightsbridge. Museums too. But not a lot for sixteen year old guys, I mean you’re not even allowed to play ball games on the lawns or squares or anything because the posh people complain. It’s actually illegal. My brother got a caution from some random police officer just for kicking the ball along in front of him on his way to football practice.”

Dan took careful note of the way Phil had used the word ‘posh’. Exclusive rather than inclusive, as if he didn’t consider himself like the people they were living amongst any more than Dan did.

“That’s alright, I like parks.” Dan said, playing along. “I left my wallet at home anyway so I don’t wanna hit the shops today. Where do people from our school go?”

“I don’t know, they probably hang out in the champagne bar at Harrods.”

Dan laughed, his suspicions confirmed. Michel Lester’s rise to affluence had been sudden, and recent.

“Let’s go to a park then. Show me your favourite.” Dan smiled.

“My favourite’s a bit of a trek, but I guess we’ve both got time to kill. My friend Joe lives next to it, that’s how I met him actually. I do have one friend. And you, of course. He doesn’t go to our school though.”

They talked easily as they walked, messing about and taking their time. When they arrived at the park, it was easy to see why Phil had chosen it for his favourite. It was both larger and denser than all the carefully kept Chelsea gardens, and it had a wildness about it that was concealed by tall, iron wrought fences. The gates creaked as Phil pushed them open.

“I don’t know its name,” he said softly. “I just call it _The Park_ in my head.”

The canopy blocked out most of the dwindling afternoon light, and it was dark and quiet under the trees. They followed a mud path past a small pond with a few resident ducks, and an uninspiring bronze bust of someone rich and probably dead propped upon a mildewing pedestal. There were very few flowers, and a complete lack of the sickly bright green grass that Dan was starting to detest. A stream trickled through the trees and squirrels ran along beside them, keeping a curious distance.

“Come on,” Phil said, “Ignore the path. I want to show you Joe’s tree.”

They pushed their way laboriously through a cluster of bushes, Dan now glad that he was only wearing trackies. A larger tree stood in the centre of the copse. It was old and gnarled, with many branches twisting up to the sky.

“Joe?” Phil called.

Dan raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t see anyone, and there was no reply.

“Okay, he’s not in. He won’t mind me showing you, I don’t think. It’s hollow. You have to climb up a bit to see in, but it’s worth it.”

Phil led the way, clambering easily up the trunk to where it divided and split. Dan followed, a little bemused, and very nearly missed the hole completely and fell in it. Phil caught him just in time and laughed.

“Look, see? There’s some of Joe’s things at the bottom, he can leave them there because no one would climb it, and even if they did they wouldn’t spot the way in.”

The tree was hollow all the way to the ground, a narrow space just wide enough for Dan to crawl into. It was too dark to see what was at the bottom, and Phil shined the light of his phone down into the dead wood. A blanket, thermos and small backpack lay bundled up in one corner. Dan straightened up but Phil gestured back down into the tree.

“Look at the wood.” Phil tapped quickly at his phone until the flash shone brightly down into the darkness and Dan took a sharp intake of breath.

The inside of the tree trunk was littered with carvings – some crude and others intricate. Animals and figures, abstract patterns, swirls and dots and lines and in some places great slashes.

“Joe comes here a lot. Some of them are mine but I’m not very good. I didn’t used to like it down there. It’s too small and it smells bad. The air isn’t nice, you know? He only has a penknife though – it’s pretty cool. It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“It’s really cool,” Dan reassured him. “Why does he spend time here, though?”

Phil opened his mouth to speak then closed it again awkwardly. “You know, I probably shouldn’t have brought you here. It’s kinda private to him, it took me months to be allowed in. I don’t know, I just wanted to make friends with you properly. Normally. But I couldn’t think of anywhere to go.”

“Oh right, sorry, I – I won’t tell anyone or anything obviously. Don’t worry about it.” Dan pulled his hands awkwardly away from the wooden walls.

Phil let his legs swing down, narrowly avoiding Dan’s face. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, but it’s like almost his house sometimes and it feels weird, you know? Showing you round with him not home? I didn’t even think about it like this before I got here.”

“Does he not have a house or something?” Dan asked, pulling himself up and out to sit beside Phil on a branch.

“Oh no he does, he’s not homeless,” Phil said quickly. “He doesn’t like his parents very much is all, so he likes to stay out as much as possible.”

Dan nodded. “Fair enough I guess. This is a good place though, it’s really quiet and you’re not gonna get disturbed or have people staring at you.”

Phil slipped into the tree now, rifling through some of the supplies on the mossy floor. He located a red Swiss Army Knife and surveyed the withered bark.

“I need to leave something,” he explained. “He’ll know I’ve been here. It’s rude if I don’t.”

“What are you going to carve?” Dan asked.

“Not sure yet,” Phil replied, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. He raised his head to look up at Dan. “Two of something. Maybe birds.”

“How about onions?”

“Shut up. At the very least, I can’t draw onions. I’ll make two birds. Just hint that I brought a friend with me, without outright admitting it.”

“Not lying,” Dan agreed. “Just skipping over the facts.”

Phil grinned, turning to his work. They fell silent for a few minutes, bar the scratching of the metal in the wood. Phil was stood up, carving at the top in one of the few patches of the wall that was caught by the afternoon sun.

“It’s so dark though,” Dan said after a moment. “How does he do the carvings?”

Phil brushed away at the pale wood shavings, surveying the lines critically before replying. “Sometimes he lights matches or little fires. Sounds kinda stupid, right? Lighting a fire in a wooden house. I think that’s why he does it though. He likes the fragility of it all. Knowing that all his work could be gone in seconds, and no one would ever know it was there. And he would probably go with it. Soppy git.”

Dan laughed. “How did you meet him?”

“I climbed the tree and fell right on top of him,” Phil said, remembering with a laugh. “He was a little surprised to say the least. He had to climb out with me in order to chuck me out, and I guess I just didn’t go. We talked all night out on the grass. He wouldn’t let me back in, but I didn’t mind.”

Phil told it well, but Dan had a strong feeling that he was skipping over some of the facts. It just didn’t sound right. Dan smiled silently to himself. A few weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to pick these signs. He was starting to unfold the pages of Phil Lester and read him.

“There’s a little light coming through the cracks in the wood,” Dan mused, leaning down to run his fingers over the crevices and rivulets.

Phil nodded. “Sometimes things have to be a little broken before they can let the light in.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Definitely too deep. Do you want chocolate?”

They shared the bar, Phil cross legged at the bottom of the trunk, Dan perched several meters above in the nook of a branch, so that much of his torsos was outside. He didn’t like the closeness of the wooden walls and the heavy, dampness of the air. Phil was right, it took a while to get comfortable with.

“Are you cracked then?” Dan asked after a moment. “For the light to get through?”

Phil smiled up at him. The dim light made his skin look eerily pale. “Of course I am. It was a crack in my guise that let you in, was it not?”

“So I’m the light in this metaphor, huh?”

Phil’s smile widened into a grin. “I don’t know if I’d push it that far, but you’re certainly brightening up my life a little. It’s nice not to be alone.”

Dan’s mouth twitched despite himself. Phil’s words had lit a little warmth in his belly, and he dropped back down into the hollow space, ignoring the claustrophobia.

There really wasn’t enough for two of them, and their limbs tangled together while elbows hit ribs and legs were crushed until they’d both managed to find a sitting position. (Phil’s knee was painfully in Dan’s groin, but he bit back his pain).

“Cracks in everything, that’s how the light gets in, right?” Dan said.

Phil nodded.

Dan pulled out his phone and illuminated the tree with the flash. “Well, now the light is coming from the inside. Your metaphor is obstinate and morbid. You can make your own lights, inside of you.”

“Not all the time,” Phil said stubbornly. “When your fire won’t light, when you can’t find the switch and everything’s so dark and black, that’s when you realise: those cracks that you hate and that hurt so much, they’re letting in a little light.”

Dan shook his head. “You’re being deliberately obscure to try and flog this very dead expression. By that logic, you should make the cracks wider.”

“Alright, I didn’t mean it literally.” Phil said, irritated.

Dan sniggered. “I know you didn’t. You said it because you wanted to sound cool and mysterious and philosophical. Instead, you sounded like a melon.”

“How can you sound like a melon?”

“Be Phil Lester.”

“Okay, I’ll take that.” Phil grinned. “I still think it’s cool, though. Poetic. And originally I said ‘sometimes’, it was you that made it universally inclusive just so that you could ruin it with reality.” Phil tried to unfold an arm to punch Dan in the shoulder, but with little success.

“Have you experienced that, then? Light coming through a crack? Besides me, of course.” Dan asked.

Phil considered for a moment. “Well, no, not really,” he admitted. “I mean, I’m sure it happened once. Okay, I’m going to retract my original explanation for that metaphor and start again. It means that it doesn’t matter if you’re broken and cracked, light will still get in.”

“Now that really is a stretch, you specifically said that the light came through the cracks. You were basically inferring that the more broken someone is the happier they are.”

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t even make it up. I think it was Hemingway or something.”

Dan laughed. “I knew it. I just wanted to watch you struggle.”

Phil laid his head on Dan’s shoulder, and Dan’s breathing caught in the back of his throat. He tensed.

“You’re the type that would watch someone drown, just for the poetic beauty of it all,” Phil murmured. “You’d mean to save them eventually, of course. But you’d probably leave it too late by accident.”

Dan wondered if Phil had noticed his reaction to their closeness. He focussed very hard on relaxing his muscles one by one.

“You make me out to be a heartless bastard,” Dan complained. “I’d jump in after them, of course.”

“Well then you’re just an idiot,” Phil chuckled. “You’d drown too.”

Dan shook his head. “Nah, it would be a heroic rescue. I’d get to take my shirt off and flash my abs as well.”

“Do you have abs?” Phil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, obviously,” Dan grinned. Vanity got the better of him and he lifted up his shirt just a little to show Phil. “I’m hard.”

Phil’s eyes bulged. “Me too.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dan laughed.

Phil giggled, shuffling a little closer so he could rest his head in Dan’s lap and look up at him. Dan felt very tense. What would he do if Phil tried to kiss him? He honestly didn’t know. Damn Janet. If only she hadn’t told Phil that he’d had a crush on him, then none of this tension would be here. He wanted to push Phil away, but instead he mustered up a smile.

“Making yourself comfy there?” He said, amused.

Phil nodded happily. “Very much so. Your abs make a good pillow.”

“Well, I’m glad they’re useful for something.”

“Do you get all the guys with them?” Phil asked, and Dan cringed.

“Nah,” Dan said. “I’m bi but I’ve only had girlfriends in the past.”

Phil nodded. “Makes sense. I reckon girls like you. Hattie said you were cute on your first day.”

Dan tried to remember which one Hattie was as he replied. “Well, she’s nice but not really my type.”

“You told me who your type was,” Phil said, blushing. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it must be a joke.”

Dan bit his lip uneasily. “You should think more of yourself.” He said gently.

“I find it really hard to believe that someone actually likes me.” Phil admitted, not meeting Dan’s eye. “It’s problematic.”

With much trepidation, Dan placed a hand on Phil’s forehead and ran his fingers through the mop of dark hair that made up his fringe. It was quite soft, and not all that different to a girl’s. He sighed quietly. He felt awful, but he couldn’t really back out now without blowing their cover or completely ruining the friendship he’d worked so hard to build up. Slowly, he took Phil’s hand in his and ran his fingers over the smooth skin. Phil was watching him through wide, blue eyes. Dan felt a little sick in his stomach, but he forced a smile onto his face.

“Your fingers are pretty,” Phil said softly.

“Really? I always thought they were a bit skeletal. Long and spindly.”

“Do you play piano?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Dan said, surprised. “How did you know?”

“Pianist fingers. I didn’t know, if you’d said no I would have told you to take it up. You have long fingers. People with small hands pull a muscle every time they try to reach an octave.”

“Do you play?” Dan asked.

“Not piano, no. But I play violin. Mum made me when I was little, but I actually quite like it. She made me join an orchestra too. So I know a lot of musicians.” Phil had taken Dan’s hand now and was playing his fingers over the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, but Dan didn’t object all that much. It was a nice sensation.

“Are you good?” He asked.

“Grade eight.” Phil shrugged. “Not professional or anything though.”

“Woah,” Dan said. “That’s impressive. I’ve never done any grades or anything. I’m self-taught.”

“That in itself is impressive,” Phil smiled. “Do you read music?”

“Technically yeah, but really slowly. Mostly I listen and play by ear.”

“See, I’m not very good at that. Different styles of playing. We should duet sometime.” Phil grinned, and Dan smiled back. That didn’t sound so bad.

Just then, Dan’s phone started ringing. The caller ID read ‘Bullet’ and he cursed silently, pulling himself haphazardly to his feet and stepping on Phil several times as he clambered out of the trunk. “Sorry,” he called down to Phil. “I have to take this.”

“Yo,” he said quietly, pulling the receiver to his ear. “I have company so I can’t say anything, you know…”

 _‘I get you,’_ Bullet’s voice came down the line. ‘ _I have some business for you tomorrow night, if you’re interested? It’s a big ‘un, and Diego’s decided a little extra man power wouldn’t hurt.’_

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Dan said. “What kind?”

 _‘The best kind,’_ Dan could hear the smile in Bullet’s voice. ‘ _Bust up and a robbery. I’ll text you what you need to bring and stuff later, so your company doesn’t get suspicious. We’ll go for drinks afterwards to celebrate, so keep the whole night free.’_

“I’m excited,” Dan grinned, and he was, if a little guiltily. “Hey, Bullet,” he said as an afterthought. “Are we like, proper friends? Or is this just a work thing?”

 _‘We’re mates, Dan.’_ Bullet replied. ‘ _You’re a cool guy_.’

“Can I ask you something then?”

_‘Shoot.’_

“What’s your real name? I get if you don’t want to say.” Dan bit his tongue, waiting.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

_‘It’s Joe.’_

 

 


	11. The Family Business

 

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The job Bullet (Joe? Dan wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to call him that) had lined up for the evening was a lot heavier than Dan’s trip with Zebra. He was handed a flip knife within minutes of entering the building, and at least half the team were packing guns. It was a robbery, but the safest kind.

“We’re robbing other criminals,” Zebra explained gleefully. “You can’t exactly report it to the police when your coke goes missing.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Stealing drugs?” Dan asked.

“If there’s any worth nabbing then sure, we’ll take whatever we can get our hands on. But that’s not what we’re really there for. You ever heard of a hard front?”

Dan had of course, but shook his head.

“It’s a place, usually a small flat, where drug deals are carried out. Through the letterbox, like. You line the inside of the door with a couple of inches of steel and it’s damn near impenetrable. If someone tries to break in, all the rats inside have to do is sit tight and call for back up. They’ll have their fellas storming in before the robber’s managed to even make a dent.”

“So how are we going to get through?”

Zebra smiled. “If you can’t break the door down, you have to figure out what makes it open. We’ve had a couple of boys on surveillance for two weeks now, watching every little deal and, more importantly, the deliveries. The people who bring in more drugs and take away the cash. Deals are always in cash, which is just what we’re after. Our slightly warped pizza delivery dudes are going to run into a bit of trouble on the way here, but not to worry – we’ll collect their booty for them, no charge.”

Dan grinned despite himself.

“The best part of course,” Zebra carried on. “Is that this particular hard front belongs to one of Diego’s biggest rivals in the south. He’s been buzzing all week. He’s even going to come along himself to see it done. There’s going to be a party tonight, my friend.”

They were certainly a formidable group when they rolled out in a fleet of grey and black cars, just as the sun was disappearing over the horizon. Dan was in the back seat of a rattling Punto with Bullet and another spotty youth named Marc. Zebra was driving, a newly polished glock 42 nestled proudly on his lap. As they drew up fifteen minutes later outside a grey walled block of flats, Dan couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of adrenalin pumping in his veins.

The cars had separated and taken different routes so as not to draw attention, so Zebra, Marc, Dan and Bullet waited a few minutes for the rest to arrive. Then, they moved out. Dan’s job wasn’t complex. He was part of the backup team stationed at all the exit points of the building in case, as Bullet put it, shit hit the fan.

It was 7:20pm when a tall, balding man named Daryl with a sleeve of tattoos and a heavy rucksack on his back approached the hard front. Zebra and Marc crouched in a stairwell ten metres from the door, with silent handguns in holsters under their Jackets. Three more men waited round the corner with leather gloves over their hands and balaclavas ready to pull over their heads before they moved in. Diego was in the next block, watching the action unfold through the surveillance cameras that had made this job possible.

In the corridor, all was silent as Daryl pressed his thumb against the doorbell a second time. He had slid a slither of paper through the letterbox, and he could hear footsteps approaching the door. The second the bolt slid back, Marc and Zebra vaulted over the bannister and the men in the corridor charged forwards. A woman’s face appeared at the door and she started to talk, but Daryl slipped a 60,000-volt cattle prod out of his back pocket and plunged it into her belly. She flew back from the door, convulsing as she collapsed into a pile of boxes against the wall. Outside, Marc fumbled to cut the chain on the door with a pair of bolt cutters. In less than ten seconds, five people were inside the flat and the team of eight waiting on the second floor were running silently through the door. Then it closed, and all was silent once more.

From his station behind a group of industrial bins, Dan didn’t see much of the action. The only sounds coming from the flat were the odd thump as furniture was moved aside in the search. Dan yawned. He had taken pictures of most of the men on his side of the mission, but the larger portion of the group weren’t involved in the direct confrontation. Two cars full had been charged with doing god knows what to the opposing gang members who’d been supposed to be picking up the cash. There were another pair of cars cruising the block with just a driver and a gunman, keeping an eye out for cops or trouble and ready to act as getaway vehicles if need be.

The raid lasted just under an hour. It was neither as glamorous nor as fast paced as it was in the movies. One of the men leaving the building had blood on his knuckles, but apart from that there was very little sign of a struggle, at least from Dan’s end. The other side had had a little more trouble, something to do with one of the delivery men not leaving the car when they had expected him to, but Diego had left the building with over forty grand in cash and several kilos of powdered cocaine. It was a good job, and the atmosphere was one of jubilation as they headed towards Tyson’s Gym for the celebrations.

Dan had been trying all evening to think of an innocent way to bring up Phil Lester with Bullet/Joe. Of course, there was more than one person named Joe in this part of London, but it would very neatly tie things together if he could make this connection. He could use it to warp the story of his route of enquiry when it finally came to telling Janet. 

“Which school do you go to?” Dan asked as they sat once again in the backseat of a Fiat Punto.

Bullet told him, and Dan made a mental note of the name although he didn’t recognise it.

“Are the people nice there?” He asked.

Bullet shrugged. “They’re alright. Rocko’s the only one I hang out with from there. What about you? Have you made friends and stuff?”

“Only one, his name’s Phil.” Dan said casually.

He was watching Bullet’s reaction in the reflection of the window, but it was too dark to make out his expression. Had his shoulders bristled a little? Dan couldn’t say for certain. He would need to push it further.

“Phil’s nice, though. A bit complicated. But we get on well. He lives in Egerton Place.”

This time, Bullet definitely reacted, and Dan awarded himself an imaginary pat on the back.

“Does he have black hair, by any chance?” Bullet said uncertainly. “I might know him.”

“Yeah,” Dan said, smiling innocently. “Phil Lester.”

Dan was slammed suddenly into the back of his seat as Zebra hit the breaks, swerving off up onto the pavement.

“ _Shit_.” Zebra swore.

Heart racing in his chest, Dan waited. Bullet’s face was pale and Marc was shaking his head slowly.

“Philip Michael Lester, number four Egerton Place. That Phil Lester?” Zebra breathed.

“Yeah,” Dan said, feigning uncertainty. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You literally couldn’t have picked a worse person to befriend.” Marc chuckled.

“It’s not funny, Marc,” Zebra said, his voice strained. “This is bad. Dan’s been involved in a serious job now.”

“I don’t get it.” Dan said. He was holding his breath. This was what he’d been trying to get to for weeks now. Some answers to all the questions.

Zebra blew air out of his lips, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “Okay,” he said. “You’ve probably heard some of the boys talking about the ‘family business’.”

“Doubt he has,” Bullet said unhappily. “This is only the second time he’s been around a big group of us.”

“Well, he fucking has now hasn’t he.” Zebra said, irritated. “Everything we do, it’s all just business. And like any good business, there are levels. Departments. Ranks. Whatever. Diego is the head of our department. It’s one of the biggest, at least on our level. There’s another level above us. You’ve probably met some of those guys, they’re the really big, scary looking ones. Then above them are the ones in suits. They handle the really serious stuff, and they answer to the big boss.”

“Okay,” Dan said cautiously. “I’d assumed something like that, although I didn’t know there was any ‘big stuff’ before.”

“As far as you’re concerned, there’s not.” Zebra growled. “The guys in the suits have absolutely nothing to do with us. They talk to Diego sometimes, but the only way this works is if we know as little as possible about each other. The Boss, the real boss, talks only to the suits. No one else. Whatever shit they get up to, that’s none of our business, and it needs to stay that way. We’re too easy to catch. If the cops thought we knew anything about what goes on up there we’d all be in the bin by the end of the week. We stay well fucking clear of the suits if we can help it, and we don’t even want to breathe the same air as the Boss or anything he touches. The feeling is mutual. If the Boss ever encounters one of the street rats, they usually end up going missing under mysterious circumstances. You don’t eat where you shit. We’re his shit. We do the dirty work, he doesn’t want to be associated with us any more than we him, because that makes links and links can be followed.”

Dan gaged a good few seconds wait before replying. “Yeah, alright, I’m not stupid. What’s that got to do with Phil Lester though?” He said, making a show of sounding irritated. His phone was in his pocket, thumb pressed on the record button, and his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Guess who Phil’s daddy is.” Zebra said grimly.

“ _Shit,”_ Dan said, fighting back a grin. “The Boss?”

“Got it in one,” Zebra sighed. “And if you repeat any of this outside of this car, I can promise you you’ll end up face down at the bottom of the Themes within the week.”

“But like, I’ve never met Phil’s dad. Phil said he ran a stationary company.”

“And he does!” Zebra said with mock jubilance. “Most likely, little Phil doesn’t really know what his dad’s involved in. Daddy’s probably trying to keep his precious little angel away from all that. So he wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that little Philip is fraternizing with one of his very own street rats. That’s not good, sooner or later either Phil is going to learn about you, or you’re going to learn a little too much about Michael Lester. And when that happens…”

“We end up in shit, and you end up somewhere dark.” Marc finished. “We get chewed out for employing one of Phil’s school mates - and when I say chewed out, I mean beaten to a bloody fucking pulp – and you certainly won’t be doing any more jobs for us.”

“So, what now?” Dan asked nervously.

Zebra ran his hands roughly through his hair. “Fuck knows. We can’t tell anyone about this, it was me and Bullet that did all your background checks and shit so we’d be straight out. And you can’t just leave for no reason, Diego will get suspicious.”

“You can fix it your end though, right Dan?” Bullet said. His skin had paled and his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his seat. “Just ditch Phil. Find another friend.”

Dan cursed silently. “Well, I mean, I guess I could…” He said uncertainly.

“You fucking will,” Zebra growled. “You may have fancy moves, but we have a nice range of semi-automatic weapons at our disposal. Trust me, you don’t want a midnight visit from me and Marc. Don’t breathe another word to Phil Lester. You understand?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“IT’S NOT OPEN FOR FUCKING DEBATE!” Zebra roared.

“Yeah, of course. I promise.” Dan said unhappily.

Zebra’s breathing came out heavily, the atmosphere in the small car tense. The walls seemed suddenly very close, as Zebra turned slowly and started the ignition. “We need to get a fucking move on,” he muttered. “they’ll wonder where we’ve been.”

He pulled back out into the road and they drove in silence through the quickly darkening night.

~

It was an answer that Dan needed, but it wasn’t all that useful for the mission. And there was still a question to answer. Was Bullet the Joe that Phil called his only friend? Or had Bullet just recognised the name the same way the others had, as the Boss’s son? There had been something about his reaction that stood out from those of the other two. While they had been tense and anxious, Bullet had been terrified. Perhaps he was all too aware of the consequences of befriending Phil Lester.


	12. Enigma Variations

2112023626

~

Dan walked to school with Phil the next day, but he was jumpy and anxious, his eyes darting round every corner for fear of bumping into a member of Diego’s crew, or worse, one of the men who’d been in the car the night before. His paranoia didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked, concerned. “You look like a frightened rabbit. I’m scared to speak too loudly in case you wee yourself.”

Dan wasn’t quite sure why, but Phil’s use of the word ‘wee’ warmed his heart. It was just so out of place for a teenage boy. Then again, Phil wasn’t exactly a normal teenager by any account.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dan said bashfully. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night so I’m in a weird semi-conscious state, I keep half falling asleep then jerking awake.”

“I can tell,” Phil said sympathetically. “No offence, but you look a wreck.”

“Cheers.” Dan smiled weakly.

“Were you out partying? Or just couldn’t sleep?”

“Nightmares.” Dan said, and it wasn’t entirely untrue. He’d returned from the celebrations at four in the morning, and what little sleep he had managed to seize had been plagued with unexplained visions of his childhood and vague, frustrating memories that refused to quite come into focus.

“That’s rough,” Phil said, placing a hand slightly awkwardly on Dan’s shoulder. “I always get up and do something when that happens. If you just try to go to sleep again, it’ll still be on your mind. If you can take your head completely away from it for a while then it’s like resetting, and you can usually sleep. Read a book. Play a game of chess. Something that requires a lot of concentration.”

“Thanks,” Dan smiled.  “I’ll try that next time.”

There was one image in particular that Dan was struggling to expel from his mind. A memory that had been brought to him in vivid Technicolor during the restless night.

He was fourteen, and home alone. Someone was knocking at the door. Four men in suits, two with dark glasses, all carrying briefcases. One had been his Uncle, Simon. He was very tall, well past six foot, with a short crop of black hair. Most likely where Dan got his height from.

Uncle Simon had crouched down awkwardly in the porch and taken his glasses off to stare sadly into Dan’s eyes.

“Your dad’s gone missing, Dan,” he’d said softly. “He was away in Geneva with work, as I’m sure he told you, but something went wrong. The car they were in was found crashed on the side of the road, but they couldn’t find your father or any of his colleagues.”

Dan’s eyes had bulged and it had taken him a few moments to find words. “Is he dead?” He whispered.

“No, there were no bodies. And no sign of what they crashed into. The car was all crumpled, but it was an empty field.”

“Have they been abducted then?”

“Maybe,” Simon said hopelessly. “But we can’t think why. Or who would have done it. You need to come stay with me and Aunt Kate, I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave school for now. You’re too young to live on your own and we’re your legal guardians.”

“But, your work,” Dan said, confused. “You travel all the time. You’re barely ever in England. You can’t look after me.”

“I know,” Simon sighed. “We’ll figure something out, if it comes to that. But your Dad’s going to be home in no time, I promise.”

Dan’s father had never returned, and was declared missing presumed dead by the police department investigating the disappearance just two months later.

Uncle Simon worked for the government, something to do with foreign trade, and had persuaded Dan in three short hours to give up everything and join the underage intelligence unit. Dan was rushed through the enrolment, and had seen his uncle all of twice since he’d dropped Dan off at the unit three years ago. He shuddered, forcing himself to concentrate. Had Phil been saying something?

“I texted Joe actually,” Phil seemed oblivious to Dan’s temporary lapse in concentration. “Asked him if he wanted to meet you, but he hasn’t replied yet. It’s unlike him, really.”

“What’s he like?” Dan asked, scratching his chin casually.

“Joe? Oh, he’s nice. I think you’ll like him. He’s pretty quiet, reads a lot of French poetry.”

“Oh dear.” Dan teased, and Phil laughed.

“He’s alright, I promise.”

“What does he look like?” Dan asked. That was a reasonable question, right?

“Skinny,” Phil frowned. “Buzz cut. Eyes like ice. Smile like summer.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Alright, calm down Baudelaire.”

“And you pretended to turn your nose up at French poetry.” Phil smiled.

“Well, come on. You can’t describe someone like that unless you’re in love with them.” Dan snorted.

“Yes you can,” Phil said obstinately. “And you should. To say any less is an injustice to them. People are more than the colour of their hair.”

“They’re more than a cliché, too. Have some originality.” Dan prodded Phil playfully in the arm. Bullet’s eyes were a shade of blue pale enough to be icy, certainly. And his smile? Well, Dan wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him smile warmly enough for summer, but perhaps.

Phil’s mouth crinkled up at the corners. “How would you describe me then?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Stop avoiding the question.”

Dan sighed dramatically before wheeling round in front of Phil to look him critically up and down.

“Ebony hair,” Dan began.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m kidding I’m kidding,” Dan sniggered.

“Your eyes are cool,” Dan said thoughtfully. “You could go swimming in them. I reckon they go pretty deep. All kinds of strange things at the bottom. Secrets. Sea monsters.”

“A couple of giant squid…”

“Well, that goes without saying.” Dan stared a little longer at Phil’s face. There were lots that he could say. The lines under Phil’s eyes that told of sleepless nights but frequent laughter. The purple shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. The light roots showing through amidst the dark of the crown of his head. His nose, long and straight, and the faint lines beginning to show from the many times Phil had scrunched it up to make a face. The awkward slope of his shoulders as he stood, his weight slightly over to the left foot. The way his hands twisted round when he slid his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. Scuff marks on his shoes and a slightly worn patch on the right knee of his uniform. His fringe, so long it almost hid his eyes from view, and carefully swept to the side.

“You’re like the mornings,” he said after a moment. “Pale and light and with a warmth that pushes back the coldness of night.”

Phil’s smile seemed to grow exponentially till it spread from ear to ear and suddenly his hand was in Dan’s, and Dan wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. They walked together down the quiet street, bathed in morning sunlight.

~

Dan’s shoulder slammed into the brick wall and he let out a hiss of air.

“You didn’t even _try_ to keep your promise.” Bullet whispered angrily, his breath hot against Dan’s face as he pinned him to the wall.

Light was fading fast and the alley Bullet had chosen for their hasty meeting was not lit by any streetlamps. The shadow made it hard to read Bullet’s expression.

“How do you know?” Dan asked breathlessly.

“That’s not important. You’re still friends with Phil Lester.”

It had been less than twenty-four hours. Phil said he’d texted Joe about Dan, how else would Bullet know? Sometimes risk taking was the only way forward in this field of work, and Dan didn’t really feel like he had an alternative.

“So are you.” He said quietly, trying not to gasp for air.

The tension was electric as they eyed each other in silence, their faces just centimetres apart.

“How do you know?” Bullet said in a dangerous whisper, his lips barely moving.

“He talked about you,” Dan said, his mind racing as he planned out his story. “He mentioned what you looked like, but he called you Joe so I wasn’t sure. Then I asked your name. I wasn’t ever completely sure. But I guess now I am.”

Bullet cursed under his breath, letting go of Dan’s jacket and turning away. He kicked out angrily at an upturned bin and spat into the gutter.

“This is fucked man,” he muttered. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Dan slumped down as soon as Bullet let him go, catching his breath. “You’ve been friends with Phil for ages, haven’t you?” He asked. “That’s why I thought it would be okay. You managed it.”

“His parents don’t know about me. I’m his secret fucking tree boy. I guess he told you about the tree too, huh.”

“Yeah,” Dan admitted. “The carvings are really cool though.”

“He _showed_ you?!” Bullet’s eyes bulged.

“Shit,” Dan winced. “Sorry, it was accidental really. We were in the park. He wanted to introduce me to you, but you weren’t there.”

Bullet paced up and down the damp tarmac, breathing heavily. “He must really like you if he’s taking you places like that. You’re pretty close?” He was twisting the sleeves of his hoodie round and round. It looked like an anxious habit to Dan, and he took careful note.

“I guess. He’s my only real friend here, aside from you.”

“I don’t think you understand how serious this is,” Bullet muttered. “I befriended Phil after more than a year of working for Diego. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“Well, enlighten me then.”

Bullet dragged his hands down his face and breathed air slowly out through his nose. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I know. Well, some of it. And I don’t know a lot.” He cast his eyes furtively down either end of the alley. “The reason Diego was able to band together such a large group of prolific criminals was because of his link to the ‘family business’. There are plenty of street gangs to choose from, most of which deal with much heavier stuff than we do. Way more long term profit to be had from dealing and transporting drugs than stealing them. But we have another line of work.” He lowered his voice even further. “At least once a month, the suits send something our way. Usually it’s shifting gear.”

“What kind of gear?” Dan asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

“We don’t know, and we don’t ask. This is the thing. We get paid crazy money to shift this stuff. Way more than guns or drugs or whatever. Drugs are illegal, but this stuff has to be illegal on a whole other level to justify the bank we make from it. That’s why we don’t want to know what’s going on, you get me?”

Dan nodded.

“Like, we’re getting paid more than the going rate for a disappearance.” Bullet continued. “Murder is life in prison. What the hell is more than life? We don’t know, but as long as we don’t know - and can prove that we don’t know - then we can get off lightly if we ever get caught. Spend too much time with the Lester family however and you might find out.”

“But that’s what I don’t get,” Dan said, confused. “Lester was one of the first names you ever mentioned to me. It’s all over the place. On the gym and everything. That’s not very secretive.”

“That’s why it’s called the family business,” Bullet explained. “There are secrets, but we do know who everyone is. I’ve spoken to Mr Lester a couple of times. He oversees stuff sometimes. And the suits come to the gym. But it’s only ever work, that’s the thing. If you only ever talk about work stuff then you’re okay. It’s outside of work that you have to stay away from anyone not in your little niche. When they’re not specifically trying to talk to you about something work related, that’s when you might accidentally find out something you didn’t want to know. As soon as you know what it is, you can’t touch it. We all rely on each other. Like a family. Only we’re not exactly best pals. Like a family.”

“My family’s pretty close.” Dan murmured.

“Mine’s not.” Bullet said shortly.

Dan looked at him questioningly, but didn’t push it. “So why are _you_ friends with Phil?”

“I don’t like not knowing.” Bullet sighed. “I’m trying to find out, but preferably without getting myself killed. I need to move up the ranks so I can make enough money to move out of my shitty house and away from my shitty family. I want to be a suit.”

Dan’s brow furrowed sympathetically. “That’s pretty dangerous though, isn’t it? I mean, you’re really young. They might not want you doing something so important.”

“I have to try. I’m flunking school, I can’t concentrate and I miss so much of it I’m way behind. I just can’t keep up with it all. I hate the teachers and I hate the students. But I can’t be a street rat for the rest of my life, it’s way too risky. I’ll end up doing jail time. I don’t want to go to prison, Dan. So I have a game plan. Get out of the dangerous waters as quickly as possible. Once you’re not actually doing any of the dirty work it’s much harder for them to pin anything on you. And you can make one hell of an income.”

Dan nodded. “Seems smart, I guess.”

“That’s why you need to stay away from him,” Bullet insisted. “You have an alternative. You’re smart. You can avoid the criminal world all together, once you’re an adult. Or go into it with a degree and lots of business connections. You don’t have to risk it like this.”

Dan bit his lip. “I really like Phil, though. He’s like no one I’ve ever met before. I can’t just abandon him.”

Bullet shook his head incredulously. “You’re bloody mental you are. Definitely not worth it.”

“I kind of want to know, too,” Dan admitted. “I’m a bit of a sucker for danger. And mysteries.”

“Nutcase with a death wish.”

“Adrenalin junkie.” Dan corrected with a smile.

“As your friend, I’m officially doing my upmost to discourage you from this bad life decision. As an ultimately selfish individual however, having you around might not be such a bad thing.” Bullet frowned, considering.

“How so?” Dan prompted.

“I can’t go to Phil’s house ever because I’ve met his Dad and he knows who I am,” Bullet explained. “but he’s never met you. And if the secrets behind all this madness are anywhere, they’re going to be with the person in charge of it all.”

“So you want me to do your dirty work for you?” Dan raised an eyebrow. He wanted to laugh out loud at the situation, but held it in.

Bullet smiled guiltily. “Well, if you’re determined to risk your neck for this secret then you might as well tell me too. No point in us both getting murdered.”

“Thanks.” Dan snorted.

“Nah, seriously though. I can’t have Phil round my house because I hate my house. But you could have us both over at your place. It’s kinda tough to progress the friendship, what with all the walls he’s built up, but something like a sleepover with games and maybe a few beers…?” Bullet suggested tentatively.

“Are you suggesting getting Phil drunk and taking advantage of him?” Dan folded his arms across his chest in mock disapproval.

“No, obviously not,” Bullet said defensively. “I don’t just want him for his Dad. I do actually care about him. He’s my best friend.”

“Does Phil know about his Dad, and the business?” Dan asked.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Bullet said thoughtfully. “His Dad wants him to go to university and stuff. He protects Phil from all that, doesn’t want him getting involved.”

“So, if you get where you want to be, you’ll lose Phil.” Dan said quietly.

Bullet sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. It fucking kills me. He’ll probably think I used him as well. That I never cared about him. I guess I’m just going to cross that barrier when I get to it, I’m still hoping there’ll be some magical way around it.”

Dan placed a hand on Bullet’s shoulder sympathetically. “You never know. Still early days. We’ll need to keep this from the rest of the crew though, they’ll slaughter us in our sleep.”

Bullet nodded emphatically. “Oh god yeah, especially now they’ve had a go at you about it. We’ll have to be so careful.”

“Yeah,” Dan agreed. “So. Where do we go from here?”

“That’s easy,” Bullet said. “He asked me only last night if I wanted to meet you, so I’ll say yes. We’ll have to pretend not to know each other.”

Dan shook his head. “No, that’s risky. Too easy to accidentally let slip. You need to stick as close to the truth as possible – we can say we met at the gym.”

“Alright, since when were you the expert?” Bullet laughed.

Dan smiled shrewdly. “It’s common sense. The less pretence, the less chance of fucking it up. I’m not an expert, which is exactly why I’m saying I don’t think we’d be able to do it.”

“Okay,” Bullet rolled his eyes. “We met at the gym and know each other, but not very well. That’s mostly true. Oh, and call me Joe. Obviously he doesn’t know the name Bullet.”

Well, Dan thought, at least that proved that Joe wasn’t working for some sort of rival organisation on the same mission as Dan. He never would have suggested unnecessary pretence, it was one of the basics of intelligence training.

“So we have a plan.” Dan said.

“We have a plan,” Joe agreed. “Albeit a reckless fucking stupid one.”

Dan had found out both a lot today and nothing at all. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this mystery was no closer to being solved – if anything, it was just evolving in front of him. The answer to every question just seemed to be another question. Whispered discussions full of vague words and enigmas in a nondescript alleyway of Kensington were not enough for a conviction. Sooner or later, Dan was going to need to gather some hard evidence.


	13. 5% Vol

2112023626

~

Joe’s acting skills were easily up to par with Dan’s, and Dan wondered all the time he’d spent training to pull something like this off had really been worth the effort. Phil bought their story without a hitch, and the sleepover was set for just three days later. Janet supplied a six pack of beer between the three of them (because she didn’t think any more than that would get past the ethics committee), but Joe promised to provide more than enough Budweiser to get Phil to talk. Setting out to get a presumed innocent drunk in order to gather information was a shady topic ethically, so Dan had promised Janet that it was not their intention – if it happened accidentally then that was nothing to do with them.

Joe arrived first, a suspiciously heavy rucksack on his back, and they headed down to the basement to prepare. Janet had rushed out to a charity furniture shop to find some second hand mattresses that could believably pass for spares saved by a functional family over many years, and they’d bundled all the spare bedding into a corner ready for building an appropriate base camp for their gaming marathon. Dan’s own Xbox had been shipped over from campus especially for the occasion, and he was secretly smug that he’d been able to persuade the staff that his PS3 just wouldn’t cut it.

“Cool set-up, man.” Joe enthused as he took in the plasma screens and pool table.

“It’s not really up to standard yet,” Dan said modestly. “Haven’t had an excuse to use it till now. Mum’s ordered some beanbags I think, but she’s promised that it’s our space to do with as we please, as long as we let her have control of all the reception rooms. I swear, if we so much as nudge a footstool in the living room out of place she goes mental. But I don’t care, this is a much cooler place to have friends in. We can play music really loud here and you can only just hear it upstairs.”

“That’s so sweet,” Joe grinned. “Wish I had something like this. It’s exactly what I need as well, it could basically be a whole other house. You could get everything you needed in here. Just pee in a bottle.”

“What about food?” Dan laughed.

“Plug in a microwave,” Joe shrugged. “And a kettle. Pot noodle and ready-meals, what more do you need?!”

“You make a fair point. Sophie did say she was going to get a mini fridge down here.”

The doorbell rang and the pair pattered back up the stairs to welcome Phil inside. Regarding the sudden introduction of Joe, Janet had been told the same story as Phil, and it fitted remarkably well. As far as Joe was concerned, of course Dan wouldn’t be telling his mum the truth of how they had met, and Janet was as clueless as Phil on the matter – which suited Dan well.

 The house had been cleared up much more thoroughly this time. Sophie and Janet were on red alert, and anything incriminating had been locked securely in a spare room with an extensive alarm system should one of the boys try their hand at breaking and entering over the course of the night’s festivities.

The three comfortably settled in a mound of sofas and pillows, Joe wasted no time in cracking open a beer. Phil seemed a little unsure, and so Dan joined Joe in the hope of encouraging him. For both Dan and Joe’s incentives, there was no point trying to pressure Phil into drinking, because their friendship with the dark haired boy was the most important part of their respective missions. Nevertheless, a little persuasion was to be expected of teenage boys, and so Dan threw a can gently at the mound of blankets that contained Phil Lester.

“Oi,” he said. “These are for you too.”

There was a moment of silence as both Dan and Joe held their breaths, watching Phil eye the beer apprehensively. And then Phil snapped the ring pull open, and Dan let a little smile creep onto his face. While it wasn’t vital for the end goal of the evening, it would certainly make things easier.

~

Half an hour and nine cans of Budweiser later, the three boys were heavily involved in a competitive game of Fifa. While Dan made no pretence of liking football, he had to admit that the virtual version of the game was kind of addictive. Half the contents of the basement had already been chucked around the room in various scuffles, and Dan glanced guiltily at a little puddle of spilled Pepsi on the carpet.

Joe scored a particularly jammy goal, and Phil let out a yell of frustration, pounding his fist into a cushion.

“You’re _so_ annoying.” He complained.

Joe exchanged a glance with Dan, and Dan knew they were both thinking the same thing. Phil’s speech was already coming out in loose spiels, and he dissolved sporadically into fits of giggles in response to Dan’s less than witty attempts of humour. He was a lightweight, and things were moving very quickly.

Dan took a sip of his beer as he leaned back on the sofa and they resumed the game. He’d very carefully replaced the contents of two of the cans with lemonade to make sure he stayed clear-headed enough to extract the information he needed, but this can was full strength and he was taking care to drink it slowly. It wouldn’t be much use discovering Phil’s darkest secrets if he couldn’t remember them the next morning.

“D’ya want another?” Joe asked, gesturing at Phil’s empty can, and Phil nodded happily.

“I don’t really like beer,” Phil said with a chuckle. “But I’ve kind of stopped tasting it. Or maybe I’ve just grown to like it.”

“I don’t think anyone really _likes_ beer,” Dan said darkly. “It’s just a requirement of manliness.”

“I hardly think any of us here are very manly.” Phil hiccupped.

“Oi!” Joe protested. “Me and Dan met at a gym. We’re both hard as nails, mate.”

“It’s ‘Dan and I’, you uncultured swine.” Phil tutted with another hiccup.

“I don’t care, you egotistical, superior bastard.”

“I’m cultured!” Dan piped up, with an exaggerated grin. He made a point of swaying as he pulled himself to his feet. “Let me NOT to the marriage of true minds,” he proclaimed.

“Oh, no, here we go.” Phil muttered darkly.

“Admit impediments. LOVE is not love, which alters when it alterations finds!”

“Shakespeare. Load of old rubbish.” Joe winked.

“Or bends with the remover to remove,” Dan continued, pointing his finger threateningly at Joe as he stalked towards the sofa. “It is an ever fix’d mark, that looks upon tempests and _shall_ not be shaken.”

He threw himself on top of Joe, tumbling them both back onto the mound of pillows. “It is the star to every wandering bark,” he announced, his voice slightly muffled as they tussled and kicked at each other.

“Shut up, you melon.” Joe was breathless with laughter as he fought to wrestle his way on top of Dan.

“Who’s worth be unknown, although its height be – arrgh, your knee literally went in my mouth there! - taken.”

“What does that even mean?” Phil giggled, watching in near hysterics from the other end of the couch.

“It means you can’t calculate its –oof - value,” Dan grunted. “Like, it’s relating to the North Star that ships used to use to navigate in those days. You can measure how high up it is, but it means so much more than just a few numbers to those sailors – it’s all they had sometimes to find their way home. You can’t put a figure on that. To them, it means the world. Now stop interrupting. Where was I? Ahh, yes. Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks-” Dan had emerged triumphant from the play fight and straddled Joe’s midriff, but while he was talking to Phil, Joe had wriggled out from under him and launched himself at Dan’s back.

“Within his – oi! – bending sickle’s compass, fuck, com-OW!”

Joe had finally succeeded in pinning Dan down on the cushions and, panting slightly, he threw his head to the sky. “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out! – even to the edge of doom!” he all but yelled.

Dan could only look up at Joe, disgruntled and red in the face, as Joe finished the sonnet. “If this be error and upon me proved,” Joe paused for dramatic effect, grinning down at Dan. “Then I never writ,” he said in a whisper. “Nor no man. Ever…” he lowered his face to Dan’s till his lips were just inches away from Dan’s skin. “Loved.” He breathed.

“Fuck off,” Dan laughed, heaving the smaller boy off him and pulling himself back upright, smoothing his hair down with his fingers.

“Well, that was very beautiful you two. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot of Shakespeare myself. Um, iambic pentameter.” Phil piped up, shuffling closer along the fabric.

“Very good, Phil. A-star.” Dan said sarcastically, but Phil just grinned wider.

“I did tell you Joe liked poetry,” he sniggered. “You shouldn’t really have challenged him.”

Dan turned to Joe and raised an eyebrow. “Shakespeare’s not all that impressive. Everyone knows Shakespeare. Especially sonnet 116, like, that’s the most obvious one. You’ll have to try a lot harder if you want to amaze me.”

“How about some Baudelaire?” Joe grinned.

“Nah, I don’t speak French. Gives you an unfair advantage, you could just be making it up.” Dan folded his arms across his chest as he eyed the boy who didn’t really look anything like the one he had grown to call his friend. He didn’t look like a Bullet. He looked young and innocent and oh so sixteen. He’d traded his trademark range of hoodies in varying hues of grey for a navy jumper and black jeans, and his socks were red with white polka dots. Even his buzz-cut looked a lot fluffier in the yellow light of the basement.

Joe looked back at him through small, pale blue eyes, and then his lips began to move.

“She walks in beauty, like the night,” he said softly. “Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

“And all that's best of dark and bright,

“Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

“Thus mellow'd to that tender light,

“Which heaven to gaudy day denies.” He made a mock bow, with a flourish of his hand.

Dan let out a huff of air. “Huh,” he said, miffed. “Didn’t really have you cut out as a Byron type.”

“Really?” Phil laughed. “He is _such_ a Byron type.”

“Well, I guess. That’s only the first stanza anyway. Bet he doesn’t know it all.”

“Oh, yes?” Joe’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead as he swung himself round to face Dan. “Was that a challenge, Dan Howell?”

“Maybe it was,” Dan said, amused. “And maybe now’s not the best time for it. Love poetry doesn’t count unless you have a beaux in mind, anyway. You have to say it like you mean it. Like the words make you want to cry and yell and burn a fire in your heart all at the same time.”

“Well, fuck,” Joe laughed. “Calm down Tennyson.”

“This poetry banter is killing me,” Phil said, somewhat sarcastically. “Can we cook the pizza now? Or are you going to turn it into a metaphor for how things have to be burned and warped to release their true potential?”

“That’s a good one actually,” Dan smirked. “But okay. I only have peperoni and margarita though.”

“Perfect.”

They traipsed a little sheepishly up the stairs to the kitchen, but luckily Janet was nowhere to be seen and they embarked on their pizza-making adventure with limited mishap.

~

“How strong is this beer?” Phil asked, his voice a slur and his eyes glazed.

“Five percent.” Dan responded, an amused smile playing across his lips as he surveyed Phil’s stretched out form in front of the TV.

“Coooool.”

“You know what else is cool?” Joe giggled from the corner where he was building a pyramid out of the empty cans. “Ice cubes.” He collapsed into silent laughter, and Dan snorted.

“Wow, Joe. That was really funny.” He sniggered.

“Thanks!”

“We do need to turn the music down, though. Else my mum will get mad.”

“Your mum’s hot.”

“Not like ice cubes, huh, Joe?”

Phil curled up in a ball, clutching his sides, and Dan shook his head as he got up to fiddle with the volume.

“Pair of idiots.” He mumbled.

“You’re just jealous because we’re having more fun than you.”

“Yeah, cos you’re both massive lightweights. Really, I’m embarrassed to be around you.” Dan crouched down beside Phil, staring fondly down at the mass of tangled hair.

Phil rolled sloppily over, his arms limp and barely able to support his weight as they flopped about.

“My mum would have killed us all by now. I mean, the crash when the lampshade broke. That was crazy.”

“Is your mum strict?” Dan asked.

“So strict. She didn’t use to be. Only when we started living in bigger houses.”

“When was that?”

“The first move was when I was like, seven. I had a whole double room to myself and I thought we’d won the lottery or something.” Phil pushed his fringe absent-mindedly out of his eyes.

“Did your Dad’s business just suddenly start doing really well, or something?” Dan prompted.

He watched Joe out of the corner of his eye. The boy was very still as he stacked the cans, and Dan had a feeling that he wasn’t the only one exaggerating the effects of the alcohol.

“Yeah, something like that.” Phil murmured.

“What do you mean?” Dan asked casually.

“I don’t really know,” Phil confessed. “It’s all crazy. So crazy. There’s so much money. But he’s doing what he loves, he really is.”

“What, stationary?” Dan laughed.

“Um, yeah. Well. Business.”

“Huh,” Dan paused, trying to think how best to phrase his next question without it turning into an interrogation. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“’Course.”

“My Dad’s kinda well-off too, only I don’t trust him. He cares too much about money. Like, he wants his family to live really well and stuff, but I think he’s kind of addicted to it now. He gets really defensive when I ask. I think he does dodgy stuff, sometimes. I don’t know what. Tax evasion, definitely. He goes to Switzerland all the time. Probably got loads of bank accounts. And it bugs me. I’m scared he’s going to get into trouble and I’m scared it’s going to affect my life and also I’m kind of disgusted by it all, you know? I know I could find out, if I wanted. But I don’t want to know because then I’d have to face it. And that makes me a coward, really. Because if I knew for definite I’d have to say something – I couldn’t just leave it. But I don’t want to not have the money anymore and I don’t want to argue with my Dad. So I just try to ignore it.”

“I totally understand,” Phil said emphatically. “That’s a really normal way to feel about it.”

“Why, is your Dad the same?”

“Something like that. God, I hate him sometimes. I hate him so much.”

“How d’you mean?”

Phil sighed. “Yeah, he’s rich. But at what cost?”

“I don’t-”

“Forget it. Pass me the marshmallows.”

~

“Do you like your dad, though?” Phil was at the perfect stage of drunkenness – some of the haziness was wearing off so he could form coherent sentences once more, and he was also drowsy with the late hour – and Dan was keen to take advantage of it.

Phil gave a non-committal shrug. “He’s not so bad. He’d a good sport. A bae. He cares a lot about us. I can’t be too mad at the things he does, because I know the reasons are good. He wants us to have the bestest life possible. He wants us to have everything he didn’t. You know?”

“Is he from a poor background, then?” Dan asked.

“Nah, blud, mate. No. Nah.” Phil rolled over a couple of times on the floor. “Not so much poor. But he’d never even like, set foot outside of England ‘till he left university, and he never got to do things like learn an instrument or take up sports. It was life things, you know? Thingies. No amount of money when you’re forty can give you those thingies. Those experiences.” Phil lay back until his head was in Dan’s lap, and Dan petted his head gently.

“Sorry, are you sleepy?” A small smile tugged at one corner of Dan’s lips.

“No. Manly Phil. I am strong. I will struggle on. Distract me.”

“I could take advantage. Find out all your secrets.”

“You will never unlock this box of magic, Dan Howell.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Not a chance.”

“I reckon I could. I’m great.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I’ll have to win your heart first.”

“Do you two need a moment?” Joe interrupted. He shuffled over with a grin and flopped down beside Phil, resting his head on Dan’s other knee. “Come on then, I want a loving caress too.”

With a dramatic sigh, Dan ran his fingers lightly over the foreheads of the two boys. “While this is all very lovely,” he said. “I think we’re forgetting the fact that I totally destroyed both your asses at Fifa, and thus you owe me several pizzas at least.”

“You can destroy my ass anytime, baby.” Phil giggled.

“Nah, I don’t think that’s Dan’s style somehow.” Joe quipped.

“What do you mean?” Dan frowned, but Phil and Joe just laughed. “I feel like there’s a reference I’m not getting.”

“I think Joe’s implying that you’d be the one getting your ass destroyed in this hypothetical situation.” Phil sniggered.

“ _Oh_.”

Joe propped himself up on an elbow to throw a pillow at Dan, and Dan caught it mid-air, thrusting it back into Joe’s midriff. “What makes you say that?” Dan asked.

“Oh, come on. You’re such a bottom.” Phil took hold of the pillow, hitting Dan round the head with a thwump.

“What does that mean?”

“You take it up the ass, Dan Howell.” Joe rolled his eyes.

“I don’t! I mean, well. I just, I mean, if I was gay why would… don’t all gay people do that, though?” Dan fought to find words, panic rising in his chest as he snapped himself back into character.

“Yeah, most do. But people have a preference. In butt sex someone is going to be on top while the other is at the bottom, and is, coincidentally, taking it in the bottom.” Phil explained, amused.

“Oh. I didn’t realise, I mean, I guess I just thought they swapped.” Dan fiddled awkwardly with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Really, Dan. You need to watch more gay porn.” Phil was clearly enjoying himself as he lounged once more across Dan’s lap.

Dan on the other hand was squirming uncomfortably. Had Phil told Joe about them? About what Dan had said to Phil? Or was he just joking around? Joe had barely reacted at all, perhaps he was gay, too. From all Dan’s knowledge of secondary school boys, he didn’t think that many straight boys would react so calmly (and knowledgeably) to in depth discussions of the mechanics of gay sex. And it wasn’t like Phil had ever actually told Dan he was gay. For all Dan knew, Phil thought Dan was the gay one and had told Joe, hence the calm discussion, but both boys were straight and just trying to let Dan know it was okay. God, it was confusing.

Inferences and ambiguity lead to miscommunication and serious rifts between people, so Dan decided it was best to get things clear before the water got any muddier.

“Guys, can I ask you something? You’re my friends, right?”

Phil and Joe both nodded, curious.

“Well, you’re basically my closest friends here and I don’t know who else to talk to about this,” Dan continued. “Joe, I don’t know if Phil had told you, but I think I might actually be bisexual and, I don’t know, I guess it was the way you were talking but I was just wondering if you two were, too. Not straight, I mean.” Dan had spat out the words rapid-fire all in one breath, and now he waited anxiously for their reactions.

“Well, firstly, well done for saying that. It’s really brave,” Phil smiled a little shyly up at Dan. “Secondly, I’m bisexual, yes. But I don’t really have a lot of experience with either gender so I may be wrong. Who knows. As for Joe…?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m straight,” Joe said. “But obviously it’s absolutely fine that you’re not. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Thanks, guys,” Dan said gratefully, and he didn’t have to fake his nervousness. “I haven’t told anyone else. And I’m not a hundred percent yet so like, keep it to yourselves, yeah?”

“Of course.”                                                                                                                                                                               

Phil twisted round to wrap his hands around Dan’s waist, burying his face into the soft skin of Dan’s stomach. “You looked really scared saying that,” Phil murmured, his voice muffled. “It’s okay though, really it is. No one actually cares anymore. It doesn’t change who you are or how manly you are or anything like that. I was so scared at first. But then it was okay.”

“Thanks,” Dan said softly, placing a hand a little awkwardly on Phil’s back. “I’m okay, I think. It’s not so bad. I mean, I still like girls. There’s just something else now, too.”

“Something else?” Joe said, raising an eyebrow pointedly at Dan and Phil’s embrace. “Or some _one_?”

Dan cringed, but made an effort not to show it. “Whatever.” He grinned.

~

Things moved slowly after that, discernible words coming few and far between from Phil’s lips, but Dan collected and stored every snippet of information. Michael Lester had gone to Bristol University, and studied something to do with science. He’d been good at it, and really enjoyed it. He played rugby and snooker, but Dan had yet to figure out what Phil had meant by ‘he’s doing what he loves’. More digging would be needed, certainly.

They’d received the much coveted invite to Phil’s house about halfway through the night when Joe demanded a Fifa rematch, but Dan knew that Joe would have to cancel last minute to avoid running into Michael Lester. As for what exactly it was that Michael Lester was doing with the Suits, it really didn’t look like Phil knew about it. He had his suspicions, obviously, but Dan was pretty sure that Phil had no idea how bad it was.

As they’d settled down finally to sleep at about 4am, Phil had curled up against Dan’s side and there had been a brief moment where Dan had thought that Phil might be about to kiss him, but he didn’t.

Dan was in the middle, facing Joe, with Phil snoring ever so slightly, his head pressed into Dan’s back. Dan could just about make out the outline of Joe’s body in what little light was filtering through the crack in the door.

“You know what you said, earlier,” Joe mumbled. “About needing to have someone in mind when you read love poems. To like, make it count. Make it proper. Well, I do.” He rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “And thinking about her makes me cry because she’s not mine and I don’t think she will ever be and I feel so pathetic and stupid thinking about her so much when there’s nothing. There’s nothing at all. But at the same time, she makes me so happy. I talk to her, and I feel like nothing else matters. I feel like I’ve found how humans are supposed to be. This crazy, giddy happiness. And there’s the fire too, the warmth. When I lay in bed at night and imagine us falling in love and all I want to do is read poetry to her in the bath and sit on rooftops talking about the stars and run through the streets late at night pissing off all the old people by being too noisy and too PDA and too obnoxious but just not caring at all, because we’re together. And I don’t even love her! How can I, when I’ve never had her? I don’t really know her. I can’t love her. And yet I can feel so much.” He ran his fingers angrily down his face. “God, sometimes I just want it to go away. It consumes me so much, fuck, I’d do so much more with my life if I didn’t waste so many hours thinking about her. I don’t ever want to fall in love, when something as small as this can cause so much turmoil inside of me. If I want the world to end every time she mentions another boy _now_ , how would I feel if we were actually dating?!” He sighed heavily. “I don’t love her. But god, I could.”

“Who is she?” Dan asked quietly. He knew his place here. To listen respectfully, say only enough to offer his ears should Joe want to say more.

“You don’t know her,” Joe said, dismissively. “You might meet her, though.”

“What’s she like?”

Joe rolled over to face Dan with a wry smile. “One shade the more, one ray the less,” he whispered. “Had half impair'd the nameless grace.” His fingers traced an invisible shape in the soft cotton of his pillow. “Which waves in every raven tress,

“Or softly lightens o'er her face;

“Where thoughts serenely sweet express,” his hand came to a gentle halt and he stared silently at whatever he had been drawing. “How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly – sorry for the accidental hiatus! The reason for it is actually slipped into this chapter laughs but yeah, back to every four days now J
> 
> Secondly – The Phanfic Awards are happening over on tumblr and it would be awesome if you nominated and voted for fics that you like!!! It means so much to the authors and barely takes a second. If you did want to vote for any of my fics, this one(815) and A Dementor’s Kiss are both eligible *cough* [This one is currently nominated for best fic if you wanna go vote there, but it could go in other categories as well if you know, you wanted to nominate it. Ahem. Here’s the link http://phanficawards.tumblr.com/post/96379822010/nominations-and-voting-now-open-phanfic-awards ] I can’t stress enough how happy it makes authors and ao3 stories are kind of neglected over on tumblr so if there’s something you care about then show your support!!

**Author's Note:**

> so! this is a new fic I’m working on, and that was the prologue. It’s gonna be a bit of an adventure for us all because it’s a genre I’ve never tried before oooo
> 
> I read a lot of teen!spy books growing up so think cherub/alex rider/young bond with this one, but it’s not really a crossover. The first chapter will be up on wednesday and then hopefully I’ll update every week yey
> 
> This is super ambitious. it could all go wrong and get abandoned whoops like i said it’s gonna be a bit of a marathon and it’s the most complicated plot i’ve ever attempted like i’m not even sure where i’m going with it at this stage but hopefully it’ll all work out in the end yey!


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